by Mary Morgan
“Aye. With a Fenian warrior, by the name of Liam MacGregor.”
“Another MacGregor.” Alastair spat out the name.
“Ye ken of another?”
“Rory. He watched over Fiona. Yet, she is from Navan in Ireland—of this time. The warrior sent her to the future for protection on the request of her family.”
Stephen’s hand stilled on the mug. “Sweet Mother Danu,” he muttered.
“Agreed. How did Aileen return?”
“Well, my beloved has her own power of traveling through the veil. A gift from her father’s blood. She is part Fae. Her father was Aidan Kerrigan, one of the oldest Fae warriors.”
“By the hounds! Truly? I remember the bards telling his tale often. I am sorry to hear of his death. He was the only Fenian warrior deemed worthy of my respect.”
“He was a great warrior, Alastair. And it was a privilege to fight beside him.” Rubbing his chin, he added, “He throws a mighty punch as well.”
Alastair smiled. “Ye must save that story for another day.” Rising, he started to walk out of the hall when Stephen’s words halted him.
“Ye do understand your relic must be cleansed.”
Alastair had hoped to avoid that particular discussion. Without looking at his brother, he replied, “I have not made any decision regarding my axe.” He quickly proceeded to walk out of the room, but not before he heard Stephen utter a soft curse.
****
A soft whimper woke Alastair from his place by the hearth. Opening his eyes, he spotted Merlin by Fiona’s side—a lone sentinel keeping watch. Four days had passed, and she lay as still as the first day he placed her in his bed.
Tossing off the furs, he stood, and stretched out the knots. The dog glanced his way, but returned his sight back to Fiona. Letting out a sigh, he strode over to her side, giving a few pats to the dog. Feeling Fiona’s head, he found it cool and was relieved. They had feared a fever would settle in her and make it harder for her to heal. Refusing to leave her side, he had taken his meals in his chamber. He wanted his face to be the first she saw when she opened her eyes. However, each day that slipped by without that happening, filled him with apprehension, as he feared he was slowly losing her.
He refused to believe it.
Walking over to the table, he splashed some water on his face to clear the sleep away and pushed the anxiety out of his thoughts. He braced his hands on the table and peered out at the new day. A few clouds were scattered here and there threatening rain, yet, the day held a promise of warmth.
“Och, Fiona, will today be the day ye return to me? I cannae begin to tell ye how Molly is yearning for ye.” Strolling over, he picked up her hand. “She is refusing to let anyone ride her, and here I thought she was a gentle animal. The horse surely misses ye. And then there is Merlin.” Alastair watched as the dog snapped his head up when he heard his name spoken. “I have to drag him out of this room, so that he can tend to his business. The rascal has lost his heart to ye. Also, there is the hoard of other animals that are paying court to ye. Several cats and once, one of Nell’s baby owls managed to make its way to our chamber.” He kissed her hand tenderly. “Are ye calling out to them?”
A soft knock echoed against the door, followed by Brigid entering, which stopped his ramblings.
“It’s good that you are speaking to her, Alastair. They say, well, in my time, the healers tell us that those in a coma, deep sleep, can sometimes still hear us. It helps them.”
He looked away. “Or they get so tired of hearing us they leave.”
Placing her hands on her hips, she glared at him. “That’s not funny.”
“Not meant to be,” he stated moving from the bed.
“Ye need to leave,” interrupted Matilda as she stepped into the room. She swept past him to lay a hand on Fiona’s brow.
“When she wakes.”
“Ye will not stay while we bathe and clean her bedding, Alastair MacKay.” She shuffled past him. “When I return, ye will not be in this room.”
Narrowing his eyes at her retreating form, he glanced at Brigid. She had a fist over her mouth trying to prevent the laughter from coming forth.
“You could use a bath, too,” she finally said.
Groaning, he rolled his eyes upward. “I will return within the hour.”
She walked over to him. “Bathe, eat, and then head to the lists. Duncan will meet you there.”
He eyed her skeptically. “Ye are verra bossy. Has anyone told ye so?”
“All the time.”
Holding back his own mirth, he placed a kiss on Fiona’s head. When he reached the door, he hesitated. “Why did the Guardian give ye a choice?”
A shadow of pain crossed her face, and Alastair felt cruel for asking. Finally, when she did speak, her voice was low. “Because she deemed me worthy. My injuries were so severe that if I stayed here in this time, healers would not be able to heal my womb. Yet, she told me if I should wish to return to my own time, they would be able to mend my wounds. I would be able to bear children.”
Leaning against the door for support, he asked, “Ye chose a life without children?”
“I chose a life with Duncan. For a life without him would never heal the wound in my heart,” she answered with unshed tears. “Besides, I have two beautiful children. I am blessed in so many ways, Alastair.”
“Duncan is a verra fortunate man. Thank ye for telling me.”
“I hope it helps in your…quest.”
Frowning, he meant to ask her what she meant when Nell came running into the chamber.
“Mother, I cannae find Whiskers,” she whined.
Before Brigid could respond, Alastair held up his hand. “I believe I ken where the cat is hiding away.” Stepping over to Fiona, he pulled back her covers. Sure enough, there was Whiskers curled up beside her.
“Whiskers,” cooed Nell. The cat stretched and padded over to the girl. Scooping her up, she brushed kisses along her head. “Ye gave me a fright.”
Brigid shook her head with a look of confusion. “I don’t understand it. Why are the animals and birds flocking to her? We had a terrible time shooing out the owl.”
Smiling, Alastair brushed an errant lock that was forever getting in Fiona’s eyes. “She has the gift of speaking to them,” he answered softly.
“Awww…interesting. Right, Nell?” Brigid angled her head at the young lass.
Nell giggled. “’Tis good to ken another.” Lifting the cat up to look into its eyes, she said, “Keep Lady Fiona warm.” Tucking the cat back under the covers, she gave Alastair’s hand a quick squeeze before scampering off.
“She has the gift as well?”
“Yes, along with a habit of taking in strays. Especially injured ones. Duncan built her a small cottage next to the stables to house them. Some manage to stay and others eventually leave. We all breathed a sigh of relief when her wildcat left.”
“Truth?”
Brigid snorted. “Yep. She was under orders not to tend to it without one of the men. It had a wounded paw when it showed up at the gate one morning. We let her treat the animal, and it stayed for several days.”
“A brave lass, indeed.”
Brigid’s smile faded. “Yes and on several occasions. We were both taken by Lachlan. She and Finn suffered greatly. You can understand why we all want this man dead.”
Clenching his jaw, Alastair looked back at Fiona. The man wreaked havoc everywhere. His evil had touched his entire family and now his reach extended to more. “The man must be stopped.”
“We are trying. But first, we must get your lady well. Now go, before I call for your brothers to haul you out of here.”
“As if they could.” He chuckled walking out of the room.
Mulling over his enlightening conversation with Brigid, Alastair proceeded to walk out of the castle toward the loch. Removing his boots, he stripped off his trews and tunic. Fisting his hands, he braced himself for the cold water and dove straight in. The water pierced his body l
ike knives, and he welcomed the intrusion. Hard and fast, he swam, relishing the exercise. He had no desire to clash swords with his brothers.
He wanted to be alone.
If Stephen had asked the question about his axe, Duncan’s would surely follow. And he could throw a mighty punch when asking. There was nothing to speak of. He would make his own decision regardless of what his brothers thought or had done with their relics.
Dunking his entire body back under, he went out deeper. With each stroke, he sensed his limbs relaxing, the water warming. “Bloody hell,” he sputtered realizing the reason for the change in the water. Shifting his body around, he spotted Stephen on the edge of the shore, his hand in the water.
“Leave me be!” he roared.
Just then, Duncan ambled forth, sword clutched in his hand. Pointing it at him, he shouted, “Get your arse out of the water and into the lists.”
“Not happening.”
Duncan glanced at Stephen. “How hot can ye make the water?”
“Ye would not dare,” hissed Alastair.
Stephen narrowed his eyes. “Och, did ye hear that, Duncan? He dared me, aye?”
“I will rip your fingers from your hand, Stephen,” warned Alastair.
Duncan rubbed his chin in thought. “’Tis a challenge for sure.”
As the water continued to warm considerably, Alastair was tempted to shake the ground until they toppled over, but he realized that Stephen would have the advantage if he did not make haste and retreat out of the loch. Swimming furiously toward the shore, he barely made it out without the water scorching his flesh.
Hearing Stephen’s laughter, he wasted no time in throwing the first punch, landing it squarely on his brother’s jaw. “Ye always preferred brute force over magic.” Leaving Stephen reeling from the punch, he eyed Duncan as he stormed past him, daring him to make the first move.
“I still expect to see ye in the lists,” Duncan shouted.
Flinging a curse out over his shoulder, Alastair continued to walk away until he realized that his clothes were not where he left them. Placing his hands on his hips, he gritted his teeth.
“Ye ken where ye can find your clothes, and we will be waiting there,” stated Duncan, his laughter filling Alastair’s ears.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“When there was no hope, the Knight stripped his honor from his flesh, leaving only the beast.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Alastair closed his eyes. Six long days had passed without any movement from Fiona.
Sleep evaded him.
Food no longer called out to him.
Furthermore, his brothers pursued him at every corner of the castle.
Matilda slipped fresh herbs under Fiona’s pillow. “There is naught I can do. She should have awoken days ago. With each new dawn, I fear she slips further into the land of forever.”
“Nae! Do not speak of the place! There must be another way to bring her back.” His voice sounded strained. Alastair refused to believe the healer’s words. Opening his eyes, he glanced down at the woman he loved. Fiona looked to be merely sleeping, not fading away to the dark slumber of death.
Sighing, Matilda gathered her bag, and moved to the door, where Aileen greeted her. Shaking her head, the healer walked quietly out of the room.
Aileen closed the door and crossed to the table. Pouring fresh water into a mug, she brought it to Alastair. “If you permit me, I would like to try and help her.”
“What can ye do?” he grumbled taking the mug from her.
Feeling her touch, he kept his gaze on the bed. “I am a healer with Fae blood.”
Looking at her incredulously, he snapped, “And ye are revealing this now? Why did ye not help from the start?”
She met his eyes fully. “Would you have let me try in the beginning knowing who I was? I don’t think so. Besides, I cannot heal the mind. I can only attempt to find her within and coax her forward. I have had a few days to figure out the best way to try this approach.”
Alastair nodded solemnly. “Forgive me. Do what ye can. Is there anything ye require from me?”
“Go sit by the window.”
As soon as he took a seat on the ledge, Aileen sat down on the bed next to Fiona. Closing her eyes, she took several deep breaths. A moment later, she placed her hands on either side of Fiona’s head. He watched in awe as the energy swirled around the two of them. Hope surged within him, and he made a silent plea that her magic would bring his woman back to him. Prayers he had not spoken in over a year broke free inside his mind.
Swallowing, he laid his head back on the cool stone and waited.
When a gentle hand brushed along his face, he was startled to find he had drifted off to sleep. Grasping Aileen’s hand, he did not need to hear the words. Her face told him what he did not want to hear.
“I am so sorry, Alastair. She has drifted too far. Her spirit is already in the Summerland, and her body is slowly following. When it does…she will die. I tried calling out to her, but she cannot hear me. I had hoped that a part of her spirit was still on this side.”
Her words pierced like a dagger to his heart. He quickly glanced away. “I thank ye for your help. Now please leave us.”
With a deep sigh, she quietly left the chamber.
Sliding down onto the floor, Alastair stared at Fiona. It should have been his life the Fae took, not hers. What purpose to send her to him in the first place? The ache of losing her, now a stone of unbearable weight crushing his chest.
“Why?” he roared, uncaring if others heard his plea. “Why must all the good ones be taken from us? She never hurt anyone. She took this journey to help me!”
Banging his head against the stone, he let the fury of the beast emerge.
****
As thunder rolled outside, Alastair opened his eyes. He had spent the night talking to Fiona. Filling the lonely silence with stories of his childhood—pouring out details he never shared with anyone. Praying, hoping, and pleading for her to come back to him. When he could speak no more, the darkness enveloped him and he relented. The illusion had faded, and the stark reality of truth gripped his heart.
Rubbing his face vigorously, he looked up. During the early hours of the morning, someone had left a trencher of food and drink. He quickly glanced toward the bed thinking that perchance Aileen was incorrect. But nae. And his heart hardened further.
Standing with clenched fists, he stared down at Fiona. “Forgive me, leannan.”
Going over to his bag, he drew forth one of the chess pieces. Trailing his finger over the amber, he thought back to his memories with her. Quickly shoving them away, he strode over to her bedside. Placing the piece on the chair, he looked on Fiona one last time and walked out of his chamber.
Reaching the stables, he said nothing as he prepared Gawain for their journey.
Tiernan stepped into view. “Ye are leaving, Sir Alastair?”
“Aye,” he replied more brisk than he intended to.
Glancing sideways, he let out a groan seeing Finn running off. No doubt to inform his brothers of his departure.
“Best to end this now,” he muttered heading back to explain his decision, since he did not want his brothers to come after him. When he stepped into the bailey, he could already hear Finn yelling.
“He is leaving,” shouted Finn running into the hall.
Brigid caught his arm “Whoa…who is leaving?”
“Alastair. I heard him tell Tiernan when we saw him preparing his horse.”
“Oh no,” whispered Aileen coming up behind them. “It’s because of what I told him yesterday.”
“Finn, go find Duncan.” Turning to Aileen, she shook her head. “You only told him what you saw. She still lives, and he should not give up on her.”
“What is wrong, Brigid?” demanded Duncan striding down the hall.
“What is wrong is that our brother has decided to leave,” interrupted Stephen.
“God’s blood!” spat Duncan.
; “Nae, it was Fiona’s blood that was spilled,” Alastair stated as he stood at the entrance, glaring at his brother.
“We will not discuss this here. Ye can explain yourself in here.” Storming over to the great hall, Duncan pushed open the massive doors and waited.
Alastair hesitated briefly and then proceeded inside with Stephen following closely behind him. He did not care about their opposition to his departing. It was not their decision to make. Once he had spoken, he would leave Urquhart and never return. Preparing himself for the assault of anger from his brothers, he watched as Stephen closed the door, sealing the three of them inside alone.
He did not have to wait long.
“Why are ye leaving?” Duncan’s anger apparent when the boom of thunder exploded overhead.
“I do not wish to stay. There is naught for me here.”
Stephen threw his hand upward. “By the hounds, Alastair, she still lives. Ye cannae leave her.”
Alastair’s fists clenched.
“Is this your love for Fiona? I ken she is drifting further away, yet, as Stephen states, she lives.” Duncan placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “I have sent for the druid, Cathal. He may be able to help.”
“I will not watch her die,” he growled pushing away from Duncan.
“Ye must have hope,” pleaded Duncan.
“Did ye have hope when Brigid died in your arms, Duncan? Or ye, Stephen, when ye sent Aileen back to her own time? Nae. I am leaving.” Waving his hand about, he continued, “This is your life, not mine. I have no wish to be a part of it.” Turning, he made his way to the door.
“By all that’s holy,” roared Stephen moving forward to block his path.
Immediately, Duncan held out his arm preventing Stephen from going any further. “He has made his choice. When he walks out those doors, he will no longer be our brother.”
Whirling on them, Alastair’s face was a mask of rage and pain. “I failed Meggie and now, Fiona. I cannae be in this place where there is a constant reminder of how I did not protect them. Meggie trusted me with her secret, and I broke that trust, just as surely as I broke my vow to Desmond, Fiona’s brother, to safeguard her.”
“We all carry the scars and the guilt of what we have done,” Stephen uttered.
