Dragon Knight's Axe

by Mary Morgan

  Hearing Duncan utter a curse, she put up a hand in warning, and replied, “Duncan is correct, we should go inside. And to answer your question, Alastair is not here. He left days ago.” She held her breath on the last, praying that he would not ask anymore.

  Uncrossing his arms, he tilted her head up, his voice low when he said, “Why would the MacKay leave ye here with these strangers? What are ye not telling me?”

  She squared her shoulders, having no choice. “Fine. Have it your way. We were kidnapped by the MacFhearguis clan. Escaped with help, but in an attempt to flee, Alastair had to send me down a steep hill, all the while battling the laird. Short story: He killed the man, and I took a spill and hit my head—asleep for eight days. Alastair thought I was going to die, so he left.”

  Seeing his eyes turn lethal, she quickly sidestepped him and made her way past the stunned looks of Brigid and Aileen. She grimaced when she heard his roar.

  “I will kill him with my own hands!”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “If I had watched Fiona die, I would have followed her to the land of forever and let the beast roam the land.”—Alastair MacKay, as told to the Guardian

  Looking down at his bloody and blistered hands, Alastair smiled. His work was near completion, and the axe gleamed with the energy of the land. How fortunate he was to come upon an abandoned forge several days after his discussion with the Great Dragon. He did not require much in the way of tools, but what remained suited his needs and for several weeks, he whittled the oak to fit the blade.

  Dunking his fists into the bucket of water, he washed the blood and grime from his weathered hands. Stretching his shoulders, he shook off the droplets. The wounds would heal overnight, only to reopen in the morning once he started his task. All that was left now would be to work on the carving.

  Holding up the axe, he raised it so the last rays of light glinted off the amber, a jewel he found at the base of an old oak tree after spending the night against the gnarled ancient. Had the Fae left it there for him? Rubbing his thumb over the surface, he sucked in a breath, sensing the energy. As the light subsided, he knelt upon the ground. Scooping up a handful of soil, he spoke the old words as he sprinkled the axe with the dirt.

  It had become a ritual every dusk—this slow progression back to the land to find and heal his soul. Standing, he placed a reverent kiss on the blade. He no sooner did so, when he received a nudge on his shoulders.

  “Aye, I can smell ye, Gawain. No need to tell me ye are hungry.”

  The horse snorted and pawed at leaf and twigs.

  “What? Ye think I would forget?” Alastair ruffled his thick mane. “Let me wash in the stream first, and then I can forage something for us to eat.”

  He did not waste much time in the water, and putting his clothes back on, he walked barefoot to a place he had made near the forge. Digging through his sack, he produced several apples and the last of an oatcake, which was as hard as stone.

  “’Tis apples for our fare, my friend.” Slipping out his dirk, Alastair sliced them into pieces.

  As they ate in silence, the first star in the sky blinked at him. As always, his thoughts returned to Fiona, and the time they sat under the stars and talked. Resting his arms on his knees, he looked upward. Was it possible Fiona was gazing at the stars, too? His body betrayed him when he remembered other things about her.

  Her giggle when he would kiss her on the soft spot below her ear.

  The way she watched him as he made love to her body.

  How she would utter his name on a sigh.

  Yet, mostly, how when she looked into his eyes, she could see his entire soul and never once drew back in fear.

  By the Gods, he ached for her. To touch and hold her again in his arms, the desire so potent she invaded his dreams. Each waking moment was torture. “Soon, my love, I shall return. And by the Gods, ye had best be awake.”

  Hearing someone approach, he rolled over and hid behind a tree, his dirk ready. As the footsteps neared, he could tell that whoever it was approached without fear. They were obviously not concealing their position. His nerves tingled with unknown energy, and he lowered his weapon.

  Stepping out from the shadows, he called out, “What purpose do ye seek, druid?”

  Laughter greeted him and for a moment, Alastair was tempted to reconsider his hospitality. Did not his brothers tell him of an evil druid? Could this be the man?

  “I will not ask ye again,” he warned.

  Pushing the branches aside, the druid walked over to Alastair. “I am on a journey to Urquhart. Only passing through.”

  Alastair stiffened and raised his blade. “Your name?”

  “Is this how ye greet druids?” he asked leaning on his staff.

  “It depends on the name.”

  The druid moved closer, and Alastair prepared for an attack.

  “Ahh…you must be Alastair. I am Cathal.”

  Stunned, Alastair lowered his dirk. “Ye would ken this how?”

  “In these parts, anyone asking my name, especially understanding that I am a druid, is searching for Lachlan. Not only do ye have the look of a MacKay, but I sense your Fae blood.”

  “Druids.” Yet, Alastair smiled and grasped the man’s shoulder. “Welcome to my home.”

  “Ye are not staying at Urquhart?” Cathal asked walking alongside him.

  Alastair rubbed a hand through his beard. “Nae. Though, I will be returning within a few days.”

  “And your quest?”

  Abruptly, Alastair turned away, preparing a small fire. Until he saw Fiona with his own eyes, his quest would not be over. It would be the last healing part, and he longed to finish and return. Watching as the flames snapped and grew, he turned his head and looked at the druid. “It is not over.”

  Cathal smiled and promptly sat down on a log. “It is good to hear. Your brothers will be relieved to see ye after these many moons.”

  Tossing another group of branches into the fire, Alastair let out a bark of laughter. “I did return, though it was not a happy reunion. I left the woman I love in their care, believing she was near death. We did not part on good terms, I fear.” He kicked away a fallen ember.

  “Then it shall be a joyous reconciliation when ye do go back.”

  “Ye do understand that we are talking about Duncan and Stephen, aye?”

  Scratching his beard, Cathal nodded. “Their words can do more damage than their bite. I am confident that ye will make peace with them. They are after all your brothers.”

  “Brothers with tempers to match my own,” he grumbled.

  “The challenge is mastering the control.”

  “Hmmm…that may take a lifetime.” Watching the flames, Alastair realized his manners. “I’m afraid I have no food or drink to offer ye.”

  Cathal’s eyes widened in surprise. “How do ye fare? By living off the land?”

  Alastair snorted. “Not animals. Greens by the stream, nuts, and apples. Most of my supplies were gone in the first week. I make do.”

  Standing, Cathal smiled and walked over to his horse. Removing a satchel, he returned and started removing items.

  Alastair held up his hand. “I will not take from ye.”

  Cathal waved him off. “There is plenty here and only a few days’ ride to Urquhart. Furthermore, I have come from the Murray, who supplied me verra well. Now…aye, here is smoked salmon, bread, some type of meat pie, cheeses”—and pulling out a rather large wine skin, he held it aloft—“some of the finest elderberry wine I have ever sampled.”

  Taking the wine skin, Alastair took a swig and closed his eyes. “By the Gods, ’tis worthy.” Letting the warmth of the wine fill him, he reached for the salmon and bread, tearing off a piece.

  As they ate in silence, Alastair glanced down at the sack and spied some carrots. Pulling out a few, he went and fed Gawain. When he returned, Cathal had his eyes closed, and he thought the druid had fallen asleep. Taking another bite of salmon, he let his body relax. An owl hoo
ted in the nearby tree and Alastair smiled.

  “Have ye found your axe?”

  Cathal’s questioned startled Alastair, and he hesitated in his answer. “Aye, though not the same.”

  Frowning, Cathal leaned forward. “How so?”

  Raising a brow, Alastair retrieved his axe and placed it across his knees as he sat down next to him. Cathal’s eyes snapped to the relic and back to his face with a shocked expression.

  “Did ye?” Cathal stammered.

  Alastair nodded solemnly. “Tossed it into the loch and she pitched it back to me in pieces. So, aye, ’tis my own fault.”

  He watched as Cathal held his hand over the axe. Snatching it quickly away, he shook his head in amazement. “The power of the Fae flows strong. Ye have healed with the strength of the land, and they have blessed your axe. It is much stronger.”

  “How can it be more powerful? The first was crafted by the Fae. This”—Alastair held it out—“by my own hands.”

  “Och, my son.” Cathal chuckled. “Do ye not have Fae blood? Perchance, the Fae witnessed your devotion, and then deemed ye and the relic worthy.”

  Could he be correct? Alastair marveled at his handiwork, but he never believed it would resemble the original. Rubbing a finger down the handle, he said, “I have yet to finish it. When I am done, I shall return to Urquhart.”

  Cathal leaned forward. “Ahh…what will ye carve?”

  “Why a dragon, what else?”

  “Ye do her great honor and that of the Fae. Would ye want me to pass along any messages to your brothers?”

  “Nae. And do not tell them of our meeting.”

  Cathal smiled broadly. “I shall not discuss seeing ye.”

  After taking another swig of the wine, Alastair wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and passed the wine skin to Cathal. “Can ye tell me about this druid, Lachlan?”

  Cathal let out a groan and rubbed a hand across his eyes. “My brother has chosen to walk a path of evil, one that I was not aware of until last Samhain. He was forthcoming in his revelation to Duncan that it was he that stirred the storm of discord around ye and your brothers. With each passing season, I fear his powers increase.”

  “Brother?” Alastair asked, stunned. “My brothers did not mention ye were kin.”

  “Sadly, ’tis true, though I have requested his heart, so I may burn the evil from his soul.”

  Alastair nodded in understanding. “Where did he escape from?”

  Casting him a side glance, he replied, “King William had him imprisoned at Stirling.”

  “By the hounds! King William is assisting us?” Alastair scratched his beard. “When did this happen?”

  “He came upon Stephen and Duncan in Grenlee. And a good thing he did. Your brothers were unable to use their powers against Lachlan, and Stephen was severely injured. Lachlan never saw the blow coming when King William approached from behind. The Gods were with them on that night.”

  “Hmmm…” Alastair’s mind reveled at this new information. That his brothers had fought this evil together made him anxious to return and learn more. “Patrick MacFhearguis told me his brother, Michael, was controlled by Lachlan.”

  Cathal’s eyes narrowed. “If his magic is strong enough, it can be possible. How did ye come upon the MacFhearguis?”

  Alastair stared into the flames. “We were captured by Michael, and Patrick helped us to escape. I told him Michael was not all there.” He tapped his finger to the side of his head.

  “Then if he’s being used by Lachlan, I fear we have more enemies.”

  When Alastair spoke, his voice was low. “The MacFhearguis will no longer be a problem. He is dead by my hand.”

  Standing abruptly, Cathal roared, “Sweet Mother Danu! This news will not travel well.”

  Alastair held his hand up to stay Cathal’s words. “I met the new laird, Alex, when I was there last. He soon left to bury his brother.”

  “It is grave news, indeed,” said Cathal sitting back down.

  “There was naught I could do. The man was clearly mad—controlled, and it was his life or mine.” Alastair fisted his hands on his knees. “Why would your brother walk a path of such evil?”

  Cathal crossed his arms over his chest. “I can only believe it is for one purpose. Power. With it, he can rule entire nations.”

  “Then he must be stopped!”

  “Aye, Alastair. We ken this well.” His voice sounded weary.

  Tossing another branch into the fire, Alastair spoke, “Let us speak no more of this evil. Ye shall tell me all that has happened at Urquhart since I have been away.”

  Chuckling softly, Cathal smacked his hand on his knee. “Gathering information? I see the old Alastair has returned.”

  “Och, ye wound me, druid. I would never betray a confidence, nor use it against them.” His tone playful. Then in a more somber voice, added, “I will never be the man I was, nor do I wish it, for I can only accept and heal.”

  “A wise approach, Alastair. Furthermore, it is good to see your spirit for life return.”

  Alastair cocked an eyebrow. The druid understood him well. And as they conversed, the night deepened, until they both drifted off to sleep.

  When the first drops of rain landed on his face, Alastair woke. Glancing around, he noticed Cathal had already departed. He was grateful for the company, food, and talk. There was much he gained from the information Cathal provided, and Alastair found he longed to return and assist his brothers.

  However, there was one brother still missing.

  “Where in the blazes are ye, Angus?” He rubbed at his face and stood. Staring at the gray sky, he quickly gathered his axe and moved to his shelter in the forge.

  Lifting the axe, he muttered, “First, I shall make ye whole. Then…I am coming for ye, Fiona.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “The Dragon watched the two lovers walk along the road leading them in separate directions, each oblivious to a path that no longer contained their love.”

  Fiona shivered and pulled her shawl firmly around her shoulders as she made her way across the walkway leading to Nell’s shelter for the animals. It had become her favorite part of the day, gathering food to take to Nell and helping with her menagerie. She had enjoyed spending time with Desmond, learning more about her family, but the man practically growled whenever Duncan or Stephen walked into the room. Mealtimes were becoming increasingly tense, and she feared her brother’s temper would unleash any day now.

  When Desmond had arrived and heard the news, he wanted to depart the very next day for Ireland. Yet, Aileen and Brigid refused to hear of such nonsense, stating it would not be wise, since Fiona was recovering from her head wound and the trauma of being captured. He threw a fit when it was suggested they should not travel for at least a week, and in truth, she was glad the MacKays took a hand in her affairs. She was too weak to argue with her brother.

  In truth, those wounds are already healed. It is my heart that will never mend.

  Her thoughts a million miles away, she nearly collided with Duncan. “Sorry,” she muttered.

  Catching her by the arm, he placed it firmly in the crook of his. “Off to tend to the animals?”

  “Yes. I promised Nell I would help as much as I can before I leave.” She heard him heave a sigh, but kept her eyes forward.

  “And when might that be?” His steps slowed.

  “Desmond would like to leave in the next few days. We were to return by the autumn equinox, which you call the Harvest Moon, but considering it’s only ten days away, I fear we won’t make it back by then. Besides, we have to consider the weather.”

  “I could send a message to your brothers in Ireland.”

  Fiona halted, bringing Duncan to a stop as well. “You can do that? How?” she asked incredulously.

  His eyes held mirth when she looked into them. “’Tis simple. And I am due for a favor or two from certain Fenian warriors.”

  She cupped a hand over her mouth to stop the la
ughter.

  “You do not believe me?”

  “Oh, no.” She patted his arm in reassurance. “I still find this all so fascinating.”

  “Ahh…yet, ye speak to the animals.”

  Fiona shifted her stance. “I can see your point. In spite of that, this is all new and there’s a lot to comprehend.”

  Duncan moved them along. “And ye are learning to settle in.”

  “True. I’ve adjusted to this century far better than the future one I grew up in.”

  As they paused in front of Nell’s shelter, she sensed there was more Duncan had to say to her. “After I speak with Desmond, I’ll let you know when we’ll be leaving.”

  He squeezed her hand before releasing it. “As I have stated before, ye will always have a home at Urquhart.”

  Her heart heavy, she shook her head. “He…is not coming back. There is nothing that holds me to this place any longer. My home is with my brothers in Ireland.”

  When she turned toward the door, Fiona heard him say, “Will ye be content without Alastair in your life? Can ye find another?”

  His words were like blows to the shield she had started to build around herself. Fiona took a deep breath in and out. “I have no choice.” But there will never be another, her mind screamed.

  With a shaking hand, she pushed open the door and walked on through, praying he would say no more.

  Fiona spent the next few hours chatting with Nell and helping her pass out food. Kittens needed tending to along with their wounded mother, and several birds required extra care with their splints. But for the most part, Nell told her how she came to Urquhart, and the love she bore for her new mother and father.

  Fiona’s hopes of carrying Alastair’s child faded when she got her period. She realized how foolish it would have been to carry a child by a man who had abandoned them both, and then having to risk losing it on a perilous journey across the sea.

  Part of her mourned that day. The next, she vowed to fortify her shield.

  Cuddling one of the kittens, she didn’t hear Nell’s question. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”