Dragon Knight's Axe

by Mary Morgan

  Upon entering the hall, he spied his host sitting alone at the table.

  “I ken ye are ready to leave, MacKay? Have ye broken your fast?”

  Alastair waved off Thomas’s attempt to have him sit. “Aye, earlier.” Grabbing a mug, he poured some ale, wishing it were mead. “I will leave Fiona in your care. It would be best if ye took her to the O’Quinlan, seeing ye are his friend.”

  Thomas’s hand stilled over his food. “Ye bought her. She is your charge.”

  “I dinnae have the time. I bought her to rescue her. Nothing more.”

  Taking his mug, Thomas drank deeply and placed it down on the table. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he glared at him. “Nae. It would be more fitting to hear how ye rescued one of his kin.”

  Alastair gripped his mug firmly. “Then keep her here. I dinnae care.”

  Standing slowly, Thomas walked over to him. “She does not belong here. Noreen will shred her apart, for one.” He clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Take her where she belongs.”

  Alastair pulled out of his grasp. He did not want to do this. Flinging the mug across the table, the crash echoed throughout the hall. “Why?”

  “She is not mine, and I do not have the time. I will give ye the horses, men, and a maid. But ye, MacKay, are on your own. Ye should have thought of the consequences when ye purchased her. Now leave me to finish my meal before my gut sours.”

  Quickly turning from Thomas, he strode angrily forward almost colliding with the very subject of his aggravation. Fiona.

  Her posture was rigid and her fists clenched. If looks could kill, she was definitely wanting him dead. And he understood. Fiona had overheard their conversation.

  She jabbed a finger into his chest. “Trust me when I say, I will be equally glad to be rid of you, too.”

  Watching her storm away, he heard her utter the word beast. An appropriate choice of word. Good, little bird. Fear and loathe me. I would ask naught more.

  Not looking forward to the next few days, he quit the hall to find his men and prepare for the journey. A journey he feared would test him in the days ahead.

  ****

  Warm breezes brushed past him, and Alastair longed for rain. Aye, a good storm to match his mood, not the scent of summer and her. Wildflowers filled him each time she came near, and his body betrayed him. Beads of sweat trickled down his back as he tried to force his desire away. He clenched his jaw and focused on their path. Closing the door on all emotions, he inhaled deeply.

  Halting his horse, he waved for Gunnar. Glancing at her, he saw the firm set of her jaw. Fiona had not said a word to anyone all day.

  “Do you want me to find a place for the night?” Gunnar asked, following Alastair’s line of sight.

  “We cannae be far from the place Thomas spoke of.”

  “Aye, I will take one of the men that knows the area. Do you know what is wrong with Fiona?”

  Alastair was tempted to wipe the look of concern from Gunnar’s face. It was not the first time one of his men expressed worry for her.

  “Nae. Who can say with women? Perchance the journey is tiresome,” he replied dryly.

  “Aye, could be.” Giving a shout to one of the others, Gunnar took off in the direction of the hills.

  Alastair stole one last glance at Fiona, before nudging his horse forward away from the path by the stream.

  Gunnar returned before long to lead them the rest of the way. Making their way through thick pines, they emerged into a small clearing that ended against the side of the hill. To the right was a small cottage. Abandoned long ago, it was used for travelers associated with the MacGuinnes. Fiona and her maid would take shelter inside, and he and his men would stay outside.

  Dismounting, Alastair quickly sealed off energy from the land, not allowing the power to enter his body. Waving to the others, he issued orders. Food and drink was foremost on everyone’s mind. Drink in the form of mead was on his. Unfortunately, there was none. He would have to be content with ale.

  His lip curled in disgust when Gunnar helped Fiona off her horse. The man was smitten with her. She spoke something to him, and he responded with a bark of laughter. “Damn the bloody fool,” he hissed. “Gunnar, tend to the horses!”

  Gunnar said something he could not hear, and walked away. The smile Fiona wore only moments ago was now a mask of fury aimed at him. He returned the glare.

  The lass quickly grabbed her items and stormed into the cottage. Alastair did not realize he was holding his breath until he exhaled. His fists clenched in irritation.

  Hearing a flutter of wings in the nearby tree, he glimpsed over his shoulder. “Leave. Ye are not welcome.” Waiting until the bird left, he strode over to his horse and pulled out his plaid and ale skin. Taking a deep swig, he walked over to the fire.

  Keeping his gaze on the flames, he could not remember the last time he spent more than a few nights on land. Had it been a year? Memories of when he and his brothers slept under the stars came rushing into his mind.

  “Where are ye Angus, Duncan, and Stephen?” he muttered, taking another guzzle from his ale skin.

  “Who?” asked Ivar, as he stepped over a fallen log to sit down beside him.

  “No one,” he replied, waving away Ivar’s offering of dried beef, preferring the ale.

  Ivar scratched his ear, and Alastair anticipated his next remark. He realized he needed to eat something. “I ken ye have oatcakes and cheese in your sack. I will take those.”

  He tossed Alastair the sack. “What ails you with the woman?”

  “Ails me?” His tone ominous.

  Ivar shrugged. “Your mood becomes foul when you are in her company. Has she said something unkind to you?”

  “Foul? Unkind?” he growled. “Did I not save the lass? Am I not returning her to her kin?”

  “Then she must get under your skin,” interrupted Gunnar, grabbing an oatcake out of the sack.

  So incensed was his mood, he had not even noticed the man until he was there. Alastair stood abruptly, spilling the contents of the sack everywhere. “Enough! If either of ye mention my mood again, I’ll slit your tongues out of your heathen mouths.”

  A long silence followed, and Alastair sensed someone was standing behind him. He would wager his life on who it was. How long had she been standing there?

  He whirled around quickly and was surprised to find she did not back away, nor flinch. Ahh…but she did blink.

  “Would anyone have fresh water?” she asked stiffly.

  “Nae,” he clipped out. Instantly, her chin went up and she peered past him. No doubt not believing his words.

  Ivar stood. “I shall fetch some for you. There is a stream beyond the trees.”

  Before he had a chance to move, Alastair held out his arm to block the man from leaving. “Stay. I will get it.”

  Fiona narrowed her eyes at him, clearly displeased.

  Snatching his ale skin off the ground, Alastair drank deeply, finishing all of the liquid. He did not need to look at his men to know their reaction. Stepping past her, he made his way toward the stream. Letting his senses and the last remnants of light guide him, he trekked down the hill.

  Quickly filling the skin, Alastair splashed water over his face and gazed upward. Was it that obvious to his men? His foul mood? Surely, they were used to it. Well they had best be prepared, for until he was rid of the lass they would all suffer.

  Hearing a twig snap, he twisted around with his dirk unsheathed. “Ye should not be away from the others. ’Tis unsafe,” he said curtly.

  “What have I done?” Fiona asked quietly.

  What had she done? He grunted a response.

  She hugged her cloak tighter around her, though he could still see the outline of her breasts. By the hounds! Could they not have given her a more proper gown?

  She stepped closer, and Alastair took a step back. “Is it such a hard question to answer? Is it because I’m delaying you from being somewhere?”

  In the glow of th
e twilight, her face took on a beauty he had never seen. Skin so pale it reminded him of the moon. Her curls hugged her face ending at her chin, and he wanted to wrap one around his finger. She had the most exquisite face. It started slowly—a tingling sensation throughout his body, combined with her being so near. Alastair could not help himself and he let it seep into his body.

  She sought answers from him that he could not give to her.

  Fiona let out an exasperated breath. “Well, if you won’t answer me, then I’ll take the water and leave.”

  She took a step forward, and Alastair promptly took another step back, instantly losing his footing and slipping into the stream.

  Her eyes went wide, and her mouth hung open before a bout of hysterical laughter burst forth.

  “God’s blood,” he roared, attempting to gain some footing and falling backwards again.

  “Oh my…do…you need some help?” she sputtered between fits of laughter.

  He gave her a look to frighten the hounds of hell, and she continued to laugh at him. What a fool he presented. Finally making his way out of the water, he thrust the skin out to her. “Go back to the cottage,” he snapped.

  She took the skin and turned to leave.

  “Fiona?”

  “Yes?” Glancing back over her shoulder, she waited.

  “Next time ye want something, send your maid.”

  She snorted and rolled her eyes.

  “And one last request. Stay away from my men. They dinnae need any disturbances.”

  Turning around fully, she shook her head slowly. “You know something, Alastair? You are an ass.”

  He watched as she took her leave up the hill. “What? I am no longer the beast?” he chided.

  “Go to hell,” she spat back, disappearing from his sight.

  “Aye, Fiona, I am already there,” he said quietly.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “They say Ireland’s Giant Causeway was created by the giant, Finn McCool. In truth, it was caused from the tail of a Dragon.”

  “This way, Fiona. Ye must run hard and fast to the woods. Once there, ye can hide.”

  “But I am scared.”

  “Whist, Fee. The trees will protect ye.”

  “When can I come out?”

  “Not until ye hear the owl hoot three times.”

  “Och, will be night.”

  “Aye. ’Tis safer in darkness.”

  “Where will ye go?”

  “To battle the demon.”

  “Nae, ye cannae.”

  “I must, for if I do not, we will all die. No more words. Go now, Fee. Run!”

  Fiona bolted upright, breathing heavily and looking around. She rubbed at her eyes, dazed and confused from her dream. Why did he call her Fee? No one ever called her that. Not even her Nana. And why did he tell her to run? Run from what?

  A new dream to dwell on later.

  Sighing deeply, she pushed off the furs. Arching her back to work out the knots, she glanced over at Alva. Her maid was snoring so loudly it was a wonder they got any sleep at all.

  Picking up her gown, she let out a groan. It was torture to wear. Besides being too tight, the hem was filthy and torn. She could not endure a second day strapped into the garment and riding a horse. The thought was enough to make her scream.

  “Humph.” Tossing it back down, she gathered her other clothes. Quickly dressing into her jeans and tee, she put the cloak on and folded up the gown.

  Slipping out the door, Fiona glanced up at the last of the dwindling stars. Inhaling the cool air, she let the last cobwebs of her dream fade away. As she crept past the sleeping men, she said a silent plea no one would see her.

  Especially him.

  After tending to her personal needs, she spotted a large boulder within sight of everyone, but far enough away. Climbing on top, she sat and waited for the first fingers of dawn to dance their way across sky and land. Hugging her knees to her chest, she contemplated what the day would bring. They would be in Navan by nightfall. There Alastair would turn her over to the O’Quinlan. What a queer thought to be meeting one’s own ancestor, and in Navan of all places.

  She bolted upright. “Navan? Why didn’t I think of it before?” Almost shouting for joy, Fiona clamped a hand over her mouth. If I can locate that same group of trees, then I can go home.

  A sudden chill passed over her.

  “Eager to visit Navan?” Alastair asked, his voice low.

  Fiona should have anticipated he would be awake before the others. Stealing a glance at him, she noticed he wore only a plaid wrap. She couldn’t help herself. Turning fully to look at him, she responded, “Yes, I think I am.”

  As always, his expression stayed hard, closed, and completely unreadable. With his scar, it only made him look more fierce. Pity, he had such a handsome face. If she thought him handsome now, then surely he must have been drop dead gorgeous before he was injured. But it wasn’t his face she found herself staring at now. Did the Gods sculpt his body from granite? Even in the faint light of dawn, Fiona could see his broad chest and powerful muscular arms. No matter what she thought of his personality, Alastair MacKay was the most striking man she had ever encountered.

  “I see ye are not wearing your gown. It did not fit ye properly.” Alastair shifted his stance, and Fiona gulped, feeling a fool for gawking at him.

  “What? Sorry. Yes, my gown. Much too tight.” Her face burning, she finally understood his meaning. Stop being a dolt, Fiona.

  Taking the folds of her cloak, she slipped down off the boulder. He angled his head at her and took a step forward. Fiona saw the confusion in his eyes as she backed into the rock.

  “Do keep your cloak wrapped tightly.” He waved a hand down her body. “These clothes are no better than the gown.”

  She started to say something equally nasty about his own attire, but thought better of it. “I shall do my best,” she clipped out.

  Giving her his standard curt nod, he waved her on ahead.

  By the saints, Fiona wanted to smack him senseless each time he did that little bit with his head. It was one of the most irritating things about him.

  Seeing Alva rushing out of the cottage with her gown clutched to her chest, Fiona could only imagine what ideas the woman had conjured when she saw only the gown, and no Fiona.

  Suppressing a giggle, Fiona said, “Good morning.”

  “Sakes, what are ye wearing?” demanded Alva.

  “I’ve decided I will be wearing my own clothes until I can find something which will fit much better.”

  Alva shuddered visibly. With a cluck of her tongue, she marched back into the cottage.

  Fiona was torn between following her maid or staying outside. The men had already risen, collecting their wraps and tending to their horses. She spotted Gunnar and started to wave until she remembered Alastair’s words about staying away from his men.

  Too late. Gunnar smiled a greeting and ambled on over to her. “Sleep well, Fiona?”

  “Yes.” She lied. How could anyone sleep on a smelly cot with furs infested with God knows what?

  “Our journey will not be all day. Soon, you will be with your kin.” Gunnar held out a sack. “Go, sit and break your fast. Alastair will want us to depart soon.”

  “Thanks.” Taking the sack, she peered inside. Bread and a chunk of cheese. Snapping her gaze back up, she smiled at him. “Gunnar, if I don’t get a chance later, I wanted to let you know I appreciate all you’ve done for me. It’s only been a few days, but it means a great deal to me.”

  He gave her a bemused look as if he did not understand her meaning. “’Tis nothing,” he finally said, and walked away.

  ****

  Stopping briefly to give a break to the horses, Alastair splashed water over his face. The day had turned unusually warm, and he feared his own men did not approve. They were men of the sea and cooler air. He could already hear Gunnar grumbling as he approached from behind.

  “Ye might want to stay away from the ale and drink
water,” said Alastair as he kept his gaze focused on the distance horizon.

  “Odin’s blood! I will be glad when night approaches.”

  Alastair smirked. “’Tis not until later. Summer light, remember?”

  “You do not need to remind me.” Gunnar splashed water on his head and face. Shaking the droplets free, he eyed Alastair. “Are you aware we have passed into the Pale?”

  “Aye,” Alastair replied frowning. “I fear this will be our last rest. I do not want to encounter any English.”

  Ivar strode forward with an ale skin in hand and dipped it into the stream. Without looking up, he asked, “Why is Fiona wearing her cloak? It is hot.”

  Alastair stole a quick glance at her. Her face was flushed, and she appeared agitated. He tore his gaze away from her. “She is wearing the cloak to cover her clothing, since she has chosen not to wear her gown.”

  “Poor lass,” muttered Ivar. “I will take some water to her.”

  Alastair closed his eyes to refrain from taking his hands and ripping out Ivar’s tongue. As soon as the man departed, he opened them, seeing the huge smile she gave to Ivar in thanks. She never smiled at him like that.

  What possessed him to think that? Did he truly long to coax a smile from those lips for just him?

  Taking his palms to his eyes, he rubbed them vigorously. The heat was muddling his brain. Gunnar was correct. He, too, would be grateful for nightfall and the house of the O’Quinlan. Another day of traveling on land with the lass would cause him to falter completely.

  He clamped a hand on Gunnar’s shoulder. “Let us be gone. ’Tis wise we reach Navan soon, for all our sakes.”

  “Could not agree more, MacKay.”

  Walking quickly to their horses, Alastair gave strict instructions for the men to be more alert. All talking would cease as well. He understood they were hot and tired, more so the women, but if they rode hard they would be in Navan within the next few hours.

  The men all grunted their approval, although the lass just glared at him.

  Alastair glared back.

  And to make sure his orders were obeyed, he motioned for the women to ride behind him. Not waiting for a response, he waved for them to depart.