by Mary Morgan
“Hmmm…rest on hard, cold ground with a crazy maniac most likely on our heels,” grumbled Fiona. Hearing Alastair chuckle behind her, she turned and jabbed him in the chest. “Easy for you, since you’ve been doing it most of your life.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and arched a brow. “Would ye care to return to the comforts of Leomhann?”
Her shoulders slumped, and she realized she was being foolish. At least they were free. Tilting her head up at him, she smiled fully. “No. I have no wish to ever return to that place.” Standing up on tiptoe, she placed a kiss on his chin. “What do we have to eat?”
Grasping her around the waist, his mouth swooped down to capture hers, leaving her head spinning. His tongue invaded, seeking, and she drank him into her body.
All thoughts of food vanished.
It wasn’t until they heard Patrick coughing that Alastair finally broke from the kiss. Her breathing was labored, and Alastair placed his forehead against hers. “As soon as we are free from this man…”
“Understood,” she whispered.
Patrick groaned. “By the hounds. Do ye want food, or not?”
Stepping out of Alastair’s embrace, she went to retrieve the sack. “Thanks, Patrick.”
“Aye, well, ye should be.”
They all ate in silence surrounded by the mists and the coming darkness. Fiona shivered wrapping her cloak more tightly around her. Each sound that echoed through the trees only added to the knots already in her stomach. Fidgeting with bits of her cheese, her mind drifted. When she felt Alastair’s warm hand cover hers, she gave him a weak smile.
“I will not let them take ye.” His eyes bored into hers.
“Somehow, I will be more relieved when we reach your land.” Leaning against him, she welcomed his warmth when he placed his arm around her shoulder.
“Come, Fiona. Ye need to sleep.” He brushed a kiss across her forehead.
When they entered the cave, she hesitated. “Do you think it’s safe? What if this belongs to some animal?”
“Then ye can tell it to leave.”
She snorted. “I may be able to speak to them, but it doesn’t mean they are friendly.”
“’Tis empty, and much too small for any large animal.”
Stepping through, she understood what Alastair meant. Her hand could touch the top of the rough stone. She heard Alastair grunt as he shuffled low, pulling her down alongside him. Bringing his plaid around them both, he cradled her against the side of his chest.
“You’re so warm,” she whispered as she snuggled closer.
“All for ye, leannan.”
Fatigue zapped her body, but her mind could not relax. She closed her eyes, but the nocturnal sounds kept them from staying shut. She needed to focus on something positive. “Alastair?”
“Aye?”
“When we get to the glen, what are you going to do with the axe? Kevan said that it had to be cleansed. Will you do it in the loch? And he mentioned the Great Dragon. Does she really exist?”
He uttered a soft curse. “If I answer your questions, will ye sleep?”
She shifted slightly. “Yes…I will—”
He placed a finger over her lips to silence her. “Ye will. And yes, the Great Dragon exists. She lives in the loch. My original plan was to leave the axe in the waters. I will hold off from that plan until I speak with her.”
Fiona gasped. “She speaks?”
She could feel the rumble of his soft laughter against her body.
“Och, aye.” He tapped his finger on her head. “In here.”
“I would very much like to speak with her.”
“Aye, ye might.”
“Oh, Alastair, what does she look like? I’ve only seen pictures of dragons, which are depicted as ferocious beasts.”
He rubbed his chin and sighed. “Her beauty and wisdom ken no bounds. They, her kind, were verra caring creatures. ’Tis a shame they were all destroyed, save one.”
Fiona placed her hand against his heart. “Then she will help you decide what is best.”
“And if I want to destroy it? What will ye say?”
“Oh, Alastair, sometimes what your mind wants is not what your heart desires.”
When he said no more, Fiona’s heart ached. He was a man torn in two by that dreadful night. Each one fighting for control. If he destroyed one, the other would surely follow.
As she slowly drifted off to sleep, her thoughts were of the two—man and beast, and the love she had for both.
Chapter Thirty-One
“If you put your ear to the ground, you can hear the heartbeat of the dragon.”
Alastair rubbed a hand across his face, weary and frustrated with the light drizzle now falling. It would only hamper their journey down into the glen. Morning light was several hours away. Nevertheless, he realized they should depart soon.
Glancing over his shoulder, Patrick looked to be sleeping, though with the way the man clutched his sword, Alastair figured he was only resting. His gaze peered beyond to where Fiona huddled inside the cave. She had endured much, and he was proud of her bravery. To think she would have taken this journey alone sent a chill down his back.
His bonny strong woman.
His? What was he thinking?
Looking down at his hands, Alastair shook his head. What could he offer her? A life at sea surrounded by other men? Nae. It was not meant for any woman, especially one he cared for. And by the Gods, he did care for Fiona O’Quinlan.
However, the thought of letting her return to Navan did not settle well within him. Both the man and the beast roared with disapproval.
He heard Patrick rustling behind him. Alastair let out a long held sigh and stood. “’Tis best we leave now.”
“Agreed,” said Patrick softly. “The rain will make it difficult.”
“Will ye return to Leomhann?”
“Aye. I must. And will ye return to Urquhart?”
Alastair frowned. “Undecided.” He sensed the man wanted to say more, but he kept silent.
“Time to go?” asked Fiona, emerging forth from the cave.
Watching as she tucked her cloak tightly around her, he reached for her.
“It’s raining,” she mumbled.
Fearing she could sense his anxiety, he kissed the top of her head. “Only a wee bit of Highland rain. Once we descend into the glen, our path is an easy one.”
She looked up into his eyes—the trust reflected within stole his breath.
“I will lead ye through the pass. From there, I shall take my leave.” Patrick sheathed his sword and mounted his horse.
Alastair secured Fiona on her horse and then saw to his, scanning the area for the last time. Perchance, Michael was headed in another direction. Yet, he would be relieved entering his own land. The MacFhearguis would not be so brave as to venture onto MacKay territory. But he feared that he just might—considering the state of the man’s mind.
Their journey proved more difficult when the light drizzle turned to showers making the path more treacherous. Twice, Fiona’s horse stumbled over rocks and mud. And twice he smiled when she urged the horse onward.
Dawn’s gray light stretched out before them and with that, hope. They were almost at the top when a distant shout put an end to that thought. Each reined in their horses.
Alastair quickly dismounted, shoving past Fiona. “Stay here.”
Patrick met him part way. “They are coming from the north. If we continue on this path, they will reach us at the bottom.”
“God’s teeth! Your brother is truly insane to enter our land.”
“He is not right in the mind. Until we can break the link with Lachlan, we all shall suffer.”
Alastair clenched his fist. “We cannae go south back into your land. We must continue onward.” Placing a hand on Patrick’s shoulder, he added, “Ye must go south and return to your home. He must not see ye with us.”
“By all that’s holy,” hissed Patrick. “He will surely kill ye!”
Alastair snarled. “Nae. I am out in the open. On land. I will block the pass if need be.”
“Understood. May the Gods watch over ye.”
“And ye as well, Patrick.”
He watched as the man quickly mounted his horse, giving Alastair and Fiona a final nod before he departed.
Striding quickly over to Fiona, he grasped her hand. “I want ye to ride hard and fast down the hill, but keep Molly to the right.”
“Where will you be?” she asked, her eyes wide with fear.
“I will join ye shortly. First”—he glimpsed over his shoulder hating what he was about to do—“I must stop their path.”
“Al…Alastair, I have to tell you…” She swallowed, her fingers twisting together.
Their eyes locked, and he reached up to touch her lips with his fingers. “Nae, leannan. No more words.”
Grasping his hand, she placed it over her chest. “You will let me finish when this is over, Alastair MacKay,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
His mouth twitched with mirth. “As if I could stop ye.”
The shouting intensified and giving a quick smack to her horse, Alastair sent it galloping across the trail. He whipped around and saw Michael MacFhearguis leading his men furiously through the trees. They were only moments away before their paths would cross.
Lifting his head, he raised his arms upward. “Forgive me Great Mother for what I am about to do.”
Hearing Fiona’s scream, he tore his gaze from the sky and to the scene below. An arrow had pierced her horse’s backside throwing Fiona off. He watched in horror as she tumbled down, smacking her head on a boulder.
“Nae!” he roared. Slamming his fists into the ground, he poured out his anger at the man who had harmed Fiona. The energy pulsed through him, and the ground shook with such force, it sent trees crashing all around them. Men’s cries tore through the air, but he gave no care. His body continued to quake as his fingers dug into the dirt.
Michael’s shouts persisted, and as Alastair lifted his head, he saw him heading straight for him with two men that had broken free from the carnage. Taking one more glance back at Fiona, he reached for his sword.
“Ye die last, MacFhearguis!” Alastair’s voice bellowed across the land.
Hands clenched around his sword, Alastair waited until one of the men rode close enough. Slashing his hand through the air, he brought forth rocks, flinging them at the man’s head and knocking him from his horse. Alastair was there in two strides, slicing across his neck with his blade. Quickly turning, he then flung his dirk out at the other man, hitting him in the chest.
“Ye should have killed me first!” yelled Michael, dismounting from his horse.
Alastair shifted his stance in preparation for the attack. “It would have been far too simple.”
The hiss of steel immediately filled the air, as each was intent on destroying the other. Blow after blow was delivered, and Alastair’s rage continued to intensify. He would not stop until the man lay dead beneath him. His smile turned lethal as he used his power against the MacFhearguis, watching him stumble.
“Ye cannae even fight like a man,” hissed Michael, fixing him with a dark stare.
“This from the man who rapes women.” Alastair’s tone was bitter, slashing out at him again.
Michael’s steps faltered from the blow, and Alastair took advantage of the moment, thrusting and then slicing through the man’s thigh.
“Bastard!” roared Michael falling to the ground.
Stalking over in slow predatory movements, he leveled his blade at Michael’s throat. “Time to make peace with your Gods.”
“Stop, MacKay!” shouted Patrick, quickly vaulting free from his horse.
Never leaving his gaze from the man on the ground, Alastair asked, “Why should I?”
Patrick stood behind his brother, his blade aimed at Alastair. “He is my laird.”
“He killed Fiona,” he replied in a harsh raw voice.
“She might still live. Go to her, Alastair. I will tend to my brother.”
Panic seized Alastair realizing he had wasted time fighting with the MacFhearguis. Nodding his head, he lowered his blade. His next words directed at Michael. “If I ever find ye on MacKay land again, ye will die.”
As he turned to leave, he heard Patrick call out his name in warning. His warrior instincts took over and twisting sharply, he deftly moved away as the blade whizzed by, slashing across his arm. Without thought, Alastair hurled his dirk straight for Michael’s heart.
“By all that’s holy, what have ye done?” roared Patrick, yanking the dirk from his brother’s chest. “What a fool ye were, Michael,” he groaned, holding his brother’s lifeless body in his arms.
“I cannae say I’m sorry,” said Alastair, moving forward and picking up his dirk. “He would not have stopped until one of us was dead.”
Patrick shook his head slowly, his tone bitter when he spoke. “He could have been saved. There is much ye do not understand.” Looking up at Alastair, he added, “Tend to Fiona.”
Heaving a sigh, Alastair ran down the hill, his gut clenching at the sight before him. Merlin sprawled on the lower part of her body giving out pitiful whines. She lay curled up on her side as if asleep. Yet, when he approached, he made out the gash on her head and blood oozing forth.
“Mother Danu, let her be alive,” he whispered. Bending down, he put his ear near her nose, praying. Feeling air whisper against his skin, he swallowed the fear that had lodged in his throat. Whistling for Gawain, he waited for the horse to make his way down to them.
“Guard her, Merlin.” Wiping a lock from her pale face, he said another prayer and stood.
Searching through the trees, he spotted Molly. She snorted softly as he approached. “Och, there now,” he murmured softly. Gripping her reins, he continued to speak quietly as his hand gently ran down her back, slowly making his way to where the arrow was embedded. “’Tis not deep, my beauty.” And with one swift grasp, he pulled it free.
The horse let out her disapproval, but for the most part, she remained calm as Alastair continued to speak to her. After a few moments, he led her down the hill and using a rope, he tied her to Gawain.
“Does she live?” Patrick asked.
“Aye,” he answered softly. As if anticipating his next question, he added, “I will take her to Urquhart.”
“Then ye can inform my brother, Alex, that he is the new Laird of Leomhann.”
Alastair cringed. Giving him a nod, he watched as the man silently walked away.
****
The rain had returned, and Alastair bundled Fiona closer to his chest. They had traveled many hours with no sign of her awakening. Not even a whisper of sound passed from her lips, and he hated the silence. The gash on her head had ceased bleeding, and for that, he was grateful. How he longed to race onward to Urquhart, but he feared that would harm her more.
Slowly they went, making their way deeper into his homeland. Old memories of long ago returned. Good times of laughter and discovery, before the darkness had fallen. Would his brothers welcome his return? Especially after the death of the MacFhearguis? They were trying to heal two feuding families, and he had only brought more bloodshed to their front door.
Sadness engulfed him. He had failed everyone, including Fiona.
Words that Desmond had uttered to him came back to haunt him. And if she died…pushing those thoughts aside, he resumed his belief that she would survive. Surely, there was a healer at Urquhart. Or perhaps a druid that could aid in her healing.
Passing the waters of Loch Ness, he turned his face away from where the Great Dragon lived. When they had escaped, he actually considered having Fiona present the axe to the Great Dragon. Now, all he wanted to do was toss it into the waters.
“Will ye not wake, leannan?” he pleaded. His strong brave warrior now as silent as the mists.
When did he lose his heart to Fiona O’Quinlan? Slowly and steadily, she had woven her way in and
he let her. He smiled at his first recollection of her standing at the slave market. She might have been scared, but he remembered seeing the wee lass holding her head high with eyes as blue as the sky.
Without thought, the beast and the man took charge to rescue her. She had called to them both like a siren. Oh, he had tried to fight it, but the harder he fought, the more difficult the battle.
His heart splintered realizing that he loved her. A love that should never have found its way to him. He believed himself unworthy. Now gazing back down at his woman, Alastair understood that his only path to redemption lay in his arms.
“Ye will come back to me, Fiona. Do ye hear me? If ye leave me, ye take my heart. And on that day”—his voice catching—“I will surely become the beast.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“When the Fae came to Ireland they dusted the evening sky with faery dust. Some call them stars.”
“Hmmm…what are ye doing out in this rain, my love?” Stephen MacKay asked, sweeping aside Aileen’s silver blonde tresses and placing a kiss below her ear.
Sighing deeply, she leaned against him. “Enjoying the sweet bliss of coolness after the heat we’ve been having.”
Bringing his arms around her, he looked out at the valley below. “I thought that swimming in the loch brought ye some relief.” He trailed kisses along her neck, reveling in the moans that escaped from her throat.
“That’s not the relief I was speaking of and you…Stephen, what are you doing?” She gasped trying to turn around.
“Undoing your laces.”
“Here? On the wall? Where everyone can see?” she squeaked.
He peeked over her head. “I see no one.”
She swatted at his hands. “Stop. I’m supposed to help Brigid with altering some new clothes for me.”
He chuckled low, finding he loved the soft swell of her growing womb carrying their child. “Have I told ye how beautiful ye are, Aileen MacKay?”
Before she could utter a response, he captured her mouth along with her soft sigh. Soon, she was wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing into his arousal.
