by Mary Morgan
Arching a brow in question, he replied, “I understand druids retain their knowledge in their mind. They do not write it down.”
“That’s what I said to him, too,” she exclaimed, sitting up more fully. “This is where it gets interesting. He told me that he started in Navan on small stone slabs, so that they may be preserved. He did not want to share what he was doing, since he feared others would question his motives. Especially those of a druid.”
Alastair snorted and crossed his arms under his head as he gazed up into the sky. “He would do well to write about someone else.”
“You don’t understand.” Fiona waved her arms out in exasperation. “I didn’t understand it until after he left. The pieces of the puzzle, my journey, now fully explained. Yours, too.”
He leaned over on one elbow, seeing the excitement in her eyes. “Tell me.”
“If I had not found the broken tablet, I would never have found you.” She swallowed as fear shone in her eyes. “Without that one piece of stone, you, I…” she could not finish the sentence.
Alastair drew her close to his chest. “Shhh, my love.” She trembled, and he wrapped his arms around her body. Fear gripped his gut at the possibility of their never meeting, but only briefly. Alastair did not have to worry, for his life—his love was here in his arms. Forever until they walked through the gates of Tir nan Og. Bringing her head up, he brushed a thumb over her cheek. “When we visit Navan, I must thank Kevan properly.”
She started placing kisses along his finger. “You can thank him when he arrives in a few weeks to help us celebrate Samhain.”
“What?”
Fiona looked up into his eyes sheepishly. “Did I not tell you?”
“Tell me what, wife?” growled Alastair not liking where this conversation was heading.
She scooted back. “Your brothers invited my brothers to celebrate the festival with us.”
“By the hounds of Cuchulainn, people will start to question if they come passing through Urquhart every moon!”
“But Rory said that he can bring them here, or we can go there. Yet, it can only be done on Beltaine and Samhain. Well…” Fiona started to twirl more flowers. “We could see them at Samhain, since I might possibly be with child by Beltaine.”
Her face turned a rosy glow, and Alastair clutched her to him. Placing her firmly on his lap, her eyes went wide as she noticed his erection. “Then we should not waste any more time discussing our families and focus on making our own wee bairn.”
As his hand gently brushed over the ground bringing forth more heather, Fiona let out a joyful gasp, bringing his lips to hers.
Author’s Notes
The Dragon Knights series falls into a well-loved genre of paranormal Scottish romance. However, I have managed to sprinkle my books with a wee bit of history. In Dragon Knight’s Sword, I mentioned the Treaty of Falaise. The Treaty was an agreement made in December 1174 between William I, King of Scotland, and Henry II, King of England. The Treaty required William to swear that Scotland would thereafter be subordinate to the English Crown. During the next fifteen years, William was forced to observe Henry’s overlordship. The Treaty was nullified in return for a payment to Henry’s son Richard I in 1189.
When I was researching an abbey for Stephen MacKay to flee to in Dragon Knight’s Medallion, I came across Arbroath Abbey almost instantly. I called it a serendipitous moment, since I was searching for a place with ties to King William—known as the Lion of Scotland. In 1178, he founded a monastery at Arbroath for a group of Tironensian monks previously resident at Kelso Abbey. Arbroath Abbey is associated with the Declaration of Arbroath of 1320, which asserted Scotland’s independence from England. King William is also buried here. Its ruins are vast, and a place that I want to visit on a return trip to Scotland.
For Dragon Knight’s Axe, my research took me along the northeastern coast of Ireland to a place called Dunnyneill Island. The island had been an important trading post to traders from Russia, Germany, Iceland, and mainland Europe from as early as the sixth and seventh centuries. Merchants would have brought wine and other luxury products to Ireland to exchange at Dunnyneill for furs, seal skin, slaves, and famed Irish wolfhounds. It is believed that the island was named after Niall of the Nine Hostages, a fifth century king of Ulster.
Obviously, as a writer, I’ve taken liberties with these items of history to include them in my stories—a blending of myth and fact. I do encourage those with a love of history to explore more on the bits of history I’ve shared with you. Please note, I have taken much care in keeping the dialogue and narrative to words that were used during the medieval time period. If I missed one or two, please forgive me.
As always, thank you—dear readers, for letting me take you back to medieval Scotland and Ireland. Lands filled with ancient history, mystical landscapes, and magic.
A word about the author…
I am a constant daydreamer, and I have been told often to remove my head from the clouds. Yet, this is where I find the magic to write my stories. Not only do I love to weave a good tale, but I have a voracious appetite for reading. I worked for Borders Books for almost fourteen years. Imagine my delight to be surrounded by so many books and getting paid to talk about them. Pure bliss!
I have travelled to England, Scotland, Ireland, and France. There are those who know me well when I say, “My heart is in the Highlands.” I believe I have left it there, or perhaps in Ireland.
When I’m not writing, I enjoy playing in my garden—another place where magic grows. Of course, there is time spent with my family. They are the ones that keep me grounded.
www.marymorganauthor.com
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