by Mary Morgan
His stomach rebelled, and he bolted for the door, heaving the contents of his stomach onto the ground. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he was relieved to see no one had witnessed his humiliation. Stumbling forward, he sat against a tree. Instantly, the warmth of the bark seeped into his back, soothing away the tension. At first, Alastair fought the magic of the land, but he was too weak.
My own fault.
He bent his head on his knees and tried to breathe deeply. Hearing footsteps, he did not bother looking up. If it was an enemy, they could slay him where he sat.
“You know better than to play chess with the MacGuinnes,” chided Gunnar.
“Leave me, bastard.”
“Tsk, tsk. You know very well I have a mother and father—alive and well.”
“Ass,” he growled.
Gunnar chuckled. “How long did it take for you to beat him?”
“All night.”
“Och, that’s a lot of mead, aye?”
Alastair could only grunt. If Gunnar continued with his chattering, he would pull out his dirk and cut out the man’s tongue along with the smirk he knew was on his face.
“Here, I brought you a remedy. It will help with the mind and body.”
Alastair lifted his head, slowly opening his eyes. Holding out his hand, he nodded when Gunnar handed him the cup. Sniffing the contents, he tossed it back quickly.
“God’s teeth! What the bloody hell was in there?” He handed the cup back.
Gunnar shrugged. “Could not say. The Druid gave it to me.”
“It could have been poison,” Alastair snapped.
“Nae, he gave the same to Thomas.”
“Humph! Trying to kill us both.”
Alastair did have to admit his stomach started to feel better, though his head still raged a battle inside. That would take time to ease.
Stretching out his legs, he glanced up at Gunnar. “The rest of the men?”
The man scratched the back of his neck. “Anxious to depart to Dunnyneill.”
He snorted and stood. “We will leave on the morrow before dawn.” One more day on land will not matter to them or their cargo.
“For the love of Odin—”
Alastair halted his words with his hand. “I ken the men have certain needs to take care of. In truth, my plan was to set out early.”
“They will not be happy.”
A wicked smile curved on Alastair’s face. “Send them to me, and tell them to bring their swords. They can take out their unhappiness in the lists.”
“Alastair.” A tone of warning weighed heavy in Gunnar’s voice.
“Ye can be first. Ye have grown soft, wanting to find comfort in the arms of a woman.” Alastair maintained his mocking tone.
Gunnar lunged. Alastair drew the magic into his body, healing almost instantly.
With a flash, he had the man by the neck, his dirk at his throat. “Do not ever think ye can attack me.” He slowly released his hold and backed away.
The man’s eyes flashed with fury, but he held back. Snarling out a curse, he shook his fist in the air as he stormed away.
Alastair slipped his dirk into its sheath. “Bloody fool.”
A twig snapped behind him, and he turned quickly. A deer approached without fear, nudging his leg with its head. Alastair’s hand clenched in order to avoid touching the animal. For to do so would unleash a rush of magic with the deer. Dark eyes gazed into his, and he swallowed.
“I cannae,” he whispered.
The deer glanced behind him before making its way back into the trees.
Wiping a shaking hand across his forehead, Alastair turned to head back. He hesitated, stepping back toward the oak. Placing his hand along the rough bark, he breathed out a prayer of thanks. Instantly, the branches answered, sweeping along his back and brushing down his arms. Raising his head, he waited until they slowly drifted away. It would be his only contact with the land for a verra long time.
Striding away, he prepared for a battle with his men.
****
“By the blood of your God, have ye had enough?” Alastair glared at Ivar, wiping the blood from his eye. Ivar had managed to strike his scar at a weak moment. They were all angry when Gunnar announced their leaving would be delayed.
“So the mighty Dubh Dragon bleeds,” his opponent taunted.
“Aye, I do. Royal blood, I believe.”
Ivar lunged. However, Alastair was prepared. He veered to the left and delivered a blow to the back of the man’s head. Ivar crumbled to his knees.
He held his blade to the back of Ivar’s neck. “Again, I ask ye, have ye had enough?”
The rest of the men leaned against the wall, most with swollen eyes or gashes to various parts of their bodies.
Waiting.
Watching.
Ivar slowly stood, rubbing at the back of his head. “Aye,” he growled.
Gunnar groaned in frustration.
Steiner and Alrek turned toward him. “Pay forth,” stated Steiner.
“Betting against me, again?” Alastair shook his head, walking over to a large bucket of water. Grasping it, he dumped the entire contents over his head.
Two lessons in one day, Gunnar, thought Alastair. The sooner they were at sea, the better. From there, they were headed to Dunnyneill. There they would find what they sought. Women. The mere thought stirred his own blood.
Rubbing a hand across his face, he headed for the nearby stream to clean the remaining grime of blood and sweat from his body. Removing his boots and trews, he flung himself into the water. One of the rare times he felt the need to be in it—to bathe and quickly.
Swimming back toward land, he let out a groan. Standing at the edge was Noreen. She held his plaid with a smile that would call forth to any man.
He stood, the water barely covering his groin. “I would suggest ye leave, now.”
She gave him an even broader smile. “Och, Alastair, but here I have come to help dry ye off.”
His cock betrayed him. Yet, his mind screamed at him. In the open for anyone to see. Chains of marriage for sure.
Breathing deeply, he placed his hands on his hips. “I think I can take care of that myself.”
“Oooh, let me watch.”
His cock hardened more. Scanning the area, he willed himself to relax. “I can stay here all day…and all night. Can ye?”
She swung her hips back and forth. “Most surely.”
“Then it shall be a test of wills, or until your father finds us. I, for one, am not ready to marry.” There, he had stated what he should have eons ago.
Noreen blinked. “Who said anything about marriage?” She dropped his wrap and proceeded to start undressing.
What was she doing? If it were anyone else, he would have stormed out of the water and quickly taken her. However, his instincts told him otherwise, and they were never wrong.
“Lugh’s balls!” Splashing his way toward the shore, he stomped past her, grabbing his wrap and boots. He noticed her eyes going wide and her mouth hung open.
“Have a nice swim,” he growled, as he continued to walk quickly away from her.
When he was no longer within her sight, he took his wrap, draping it around his body, and then put on his boots. He wondered if his men had any objections with never coming back here again to trade. In truth, he realized it would be a good time to turn his interests elsewhere. Scotland? There were only a couple of royal burghs and they could avoid those. He pondered this new idea as he made his way back.
“Aye, after Dunnyneill, we shall forge ahead on a new course.”
Chapter Six
“A thorn will cause ye to bleed. However, the truth will tear your heart to shreds.”
Standing at the edge of the dig, Fiona hugged her backpack. She wasn’t the only one Rory had brought. A few others from the university had come along. They stood in awe at the sight before them—all eager to get started.
She glanced over her shoulder as Rory came walking up the h
ill.
He smiled at them. “Good morning. Each of you will be with an expert. They will show you exactly the area you will be working in today. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask. In fact, we encourage your enthusiasm and insight. You might see something we have overlooked.”
Moving past the group, Rory grabbed a clipboard. “Trina you will be working with Cory. Zack with Patrick, and Mike with Liz. And Fiona, you will be with me.”
“Are we here for just the day?” asked Trina.
“No,” he replied. “All week. Will it conflict with anyone’s schedule?”
“It might,” responded Fiona. “I have to get the results of my translation to the board by mid-week.”
Rory frowned. “My understanding was the translation was completed.”
“They are, somewhat. I wanted to check a few more records before handing in my report.”
“Perhaps you should give Professor Thompson a call. He told me it’s completed. If you feel there is more work to be done, then I’ll excuse you from the dig.” Rory moved away, leading the others toward the site.
Fiona stood there fuming. How did the professor get a hold of the translation? Did he look at her notes on the desk? This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. Just when she thought she was on the verge of something, he would mention her work was finished.
“Damn!” Dumping her backpack on the ground, she reached inside for her cell phone. After being transferred to voice mail, she left a brief message for him to get back to her. She also explained there was still work to be done on the tablet. Shoving the cell phone back into her backpack, she let out a sigh.
Making up her mind, she waved at Rory. “I’m staying.”
When she reached him, he pulled her aside. “Is everything settled?”
She shrugged. “Until I talk to him, I’m going to stay here.”
“Is your work completed?”
Fiona held back her temper. “Not really.”
He placed his hands on his hips. “Explain.”
She clenched her jaw. There was no way she was going to blurt out what an ass Professor Thompson was. Nope, not going to happen.
“I thought I had more time. My notes weren’t complete. Besides, I don’t understand how he received them.” There, at least it was a partial truth.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Oh good grief! She was already on the bad side of the professor. There was always something he would nag her about. She certainly didn’t need Rory poking around and making things worse.
“Thanks, but let me handle it.” She grabbed her backpack and stood waiting.
He tilted his head in thought for a moment. “Your call. But—” He pointed a finger at her before continuing. “—you will let me know if he causes you any problems, right?”
Like hell I will. “Sure. Now can we get started?”
He gave her a curt nod and descended the hill, leading her to a small area near a grove of oaks. A section marked out with a table was set up a few feet away. Recent finds of broken pottery and tools rested on various racks. Rory picked up tools and gloves, handing them to her. “This is where we will work for the week. Again, if you have any questions, just ask. Have you helped on any digs before?”
“No. This will be my first.”
He chuckled. “A virgin, then.” He moved past her, not noticing the stunned look on her face.
A virgin in so many ways, she thought.
****
Hours passed and Fiona absently brushed a lone curl from her face. The summer air was warm, and perspiration trickled down her back. Thank goodness she was working under partial shade, or she would have fried under the sun. She waved casually at a bee, keeping her focus on the solemn task of brushing away dirt and sifting through the layers. Some might consider it tedious, but for her it was bliss.
“Here, take ten and drink some water.” Rory handed her a bottle, stepping around her and peering into the dirt.
“I’m fine,” she mumbled.
He dropped down beside her. “If you don’t move every few hours, you’ll not be able to come back tomorrow. Your back won’t survive.”
Shoulders slumping, she tried to stand. Instantly, Fiona understood his meaning. Her back ached after just a few hours. Rubbing at the small of her back, she then raised her arms and stretched.
“It would be best to set a timer on your watch for every few hours.” He moved away from her, inspecting another area.
Taking a long swig of the water, she shook her head. “Don’t have one.”
He rolled his eyes. “Then use your cell phone.”
Digging out her cell, she programmed an alarm to go off every few hours. “Satisfied?”
Turning, she started to head inside the grove, when he stopped her. “Stay on this side of the dig, Fiona. Those areas have yet to be marked. We’re waiting for a team and permission to proceed.”
She gazed around him. “Really? Permission from whom?”
“A local group.”
“Is it special?”
“Sacred.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How so?”
“The group believes it to be sacred.”
“What group?”
“Druids.”
“You can’t be serious?”
“I am.”
“What’s so sacred about the place?”
“Enough questions,” growled Rory. “Just stay away.”
Fiona’s mouth dropped open as she watched him walk away. “Hey, you said to ask questions.”
“Regarding the dig,” he yelled back over his shoulder.
She took another sip of water, her view now gazing off between the trees. “Looks normal to me.” Turning around, she went back to work on her small patch of dirt hoping it would reveal a secret or two.
Fiona didn’t realize that several more hours had passed until she heard her phone ringing. Except it wasn’t her alarm. Pulling it free from her pocket, she saw it was the professor.
“Professor Thompson,” she answered standing slowly, trying to work out the kinks in her back and legs.
“Fiona, I received your message. Your report is complete, and I will forward any questions to the other team.”
“Wh…what?” stammered Fiona. “It’s not complete. I wanted to research additional information before my final report.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
She wanted to scream at him. “Who is in charge of the other team?”
“Josh Matthews. Now I must go. I have a meeting to attend.”
She could hear him shuffling papers, leaving her speechless with the revelation that Josh had been given the lead on her project.
“Oh, and Fiona…are you there?”
“Yes, yes, I’m here,” she mumbled.
“See me first thing in the morning. I will be in my office at eight.”
She blinked. “About?”
“We’ll discuss it in the morning.”
He hung up, and she held the phone out in front of her in disbelief. “This is why I don’t have any close friends. You bastard, Josh.”
Tapping her foot in frustration, she formed a plan. “The report will be complete when I say it is.”
She calmly walked over and grabbed her backpack, strolling slowly away. There was no need for the others, especially Rory, to see her fury.
Oh no. She would save her fury for Josh and the professor.
Chapter Seven
“Once upon a time, a Knight took chains and encased his heart within the steel forever sealing out any hope for love.”
The clouds loomed dark in the distance, but Alastair had no fear. They would reach their destination by evening. Following the northern coastline, their vessel moved swiftly through the water with help from a light breeze.
Taking a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw the grim looks on his men. Each had taken a beating from yesterday’s lesson in the lists, and it showed on their faces. Even his f
ace bore the bruising left there by Ivar. They would all be happy with a few days of rest, drinking, and wenching.
“Dunnyneill,” stated Gunnar, nodding toward the island.
“Aye,” he muttered. It was not his first choice. In truth, Alastair despised the trading port. They specialized in slavery—something he was firmly against. He would barter for any goods, but not for a life.
Jumping down, he motioned to Steiner. “Bring us around.”
Steiner gave a quick nod to the others, and the men shifted their oars effortlessly—a smooth, steady motion.
Alastair rubbed a hand across his face, watching as the coastline drew closer. Always alert, he scanned the coast and along the inland. Trouble was always brewing in these parts.
He waved his hand outwards. “Take her to the northern end of the island.”
Gunnar wandered nearby. “I see the Norman is here.”
“Aye, I noticed. He can trade his weak brandy. We have far better to trade in whisky, rum, and mead.”
“And wool,” snorted Gunnar.
Alastair glanced sideways at him. “He does not want our wool. He barters for slaves.”
Gunnar spat out into the sea, giving a disgusted look as they passed the Norman’s ship.
Realizing Gunnar’s ancestors once kept slaves, Alastair was relieved his crew held contempt for those who bartered for them. It was one of the reasons he chose this group of men—that and their fighting ability.
Slowing their pace, they drifted past larger ships anchored along the coast. They were fortunate their ship was small enough to travel up and along the entrance to the island. This would give them the advantage of offloading their goods on the dock. The other ships had to do so onto smaller vessels and then transport them to the island.
Already the sounds of revelry echoed back to them. Teasing and taunting them. His men responded with raucous laughter and shouts.
“Give me two women, and I’ll show you how to service them,” shouted Alrek.
“Aye!” yelled the others.
“I will take three!” boasted another.
And so it went, each besting the other in their prowess of endurance. By the time they made it to the dock, several had taken to betting on who could last all night.
