A Scot's Favor (The MacLomain Series: End of an Era, #4)

by Purington, Sky

  “Look,” she whispered, awestruck, never more hopeful that they might end up together once free of the curse. “My ring.”

  Though not a bright shine, a low glow the color of Ethyn’s eyes emitted from the stone nestled at the heart’s center.

  “’Tis not just the power of the Claddagh in there but my Fianna.” He kissed the back of her hand close to the ring. “The magic that was once mine is determined to protect you as you always protected me.”

  “It’s safe to say we did our best to protect each other from the very beginning,” she murmured, chanting out of her clothes, more than ready to have him again. This time, not just as a coming home of sorts but a means to relieve the overwhelming stress and sadness she’d just experienced.

  Understanding what she needed, undoubtedly needing the same, he chanted out of his clothes as well and came over her. The passion between them was stronger than ever as his lips closed over hers, and she welcomed him into her body. As they made love for hours, coming together in a way so incredibly intimate that she knew being apart again would be insufferable. Impossible to withstand.

  By the time sunlight broke through the forest the next morning, both were eager to face what lay ahead. Empowered, some might say. Even magically armed based on the way they felt. Something only confirmed when they joined the others.

  “There’s something different about you two this morning.” Julie looked between them after they filled everyone in on what they’d learned. “You’re where you need to be to take on the final leg of your journey and hopefully close off your Stonehenge.”

  “Damn straight, we are.” Despite their battle likely being in this very encampment, Ciara looked in a southerly direction toward the waiting English army. “This all needs to end soon. It’s been too much on everyone.” She sighed and frowned, noting that Marek still wasn’t present. “Especially poor Marek, I imagine.” She looked at Cray. “Have you heard anything from him?”

  “Nay.” He shook his head. “But I did sense from his dragon that another keeps him company now.”

  “Leviathan,” Ciara murmured, surprised she didn’t sense it sooner. She looked at Ethyn. “It won’t be long now before you turn the Viking sword over to Marek. Before he begins the final leg of his journey.”

  “Which means we’ll see him again.” Ethyn nodded. “That’s good.”

  Yet they both knew it wasn’t as simple as that. For, to be able to hand the sword over, they had to accomplish their mission first. They had to see history through. Not only that, but a great sacrifice lay on their horizon.

  “The army is preparing to leave,” Aidan said, noting the soldiers readying themselves. He looked at Ethyn and Ciara. “’Twill not be long before it begins. Where would you have us? En route or here?”

  “Both,” they answered at the same time, smiling at each other, thinking the same thing.

  Ethyn continued telepathically. Though they were a distance away from the others, better safe than sorry. “The regent needs to lead his men into the ambush, then be lured back...discreetly, of course.”

  By discreetly, he meant whoever traveled with the war party would need to remain out of sight in case the Brotherhood recognized them. Getting the regent back would need to be done in secrecy. A cry here or there that the king was under attack. That those left to defend him needed help.

  Tiernan nodded, following their line of thinking as quickly as the others. “You mean to use the king’s safety to draw the regent back so you can see through his death.”

  “Yes,” Ciara said. Though she hated being part of this, she wouldn’t see Ethyn carry the burden alone. “It’s the best plan taking into consideration all likelihoods. Because if the Brotherhood possesses the regent this time like they have before, then he’ll end up going after the king anyway. This way, it'll just look like he's going to defend his monarch, and we can, at least, salvage his good name in the history books.”

  “Right, not to mention the Brotherhood, possibly possessing the regent, will be after you too, Ciara,” Chloe reminded. “Considering getting to one of us Brouns has been part of their endgame since the beginning.”

  “Or at least it was,” Julie murmured, sensing something. “I get the feeling Ciara, or should I say, Phelan, doesn’t appeal to them as much.”

  “Because I’m not a born Broun,” Ciara murmured, understanding. “Not to mention, I’m still stuck in a curse.” She shook her head and looked at Ethyn. “A curse that we’ve nearly made our way out of.”

  “Which means, as suspected, the curse has dwindled down so much there's only room enough for us,” he replied. “Not just that, but now that the ring's ignited, be it a low glow or not, you're far less vulnerable.”

  She nodded in agreement. “You're right.”

  Ethyn squeezed her hand and spoke aloud. “Are you ready then, lass?”

  “Absolutely.” Though nervous, she felt sure of herself. Sure of him. What they shared. What they were capable of. “Let’s head David’s way.”

  A decision, she learned soon after, that would prove truly daunting.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  AS PLANNED, AIDEN headed to battle, and the rest of them stayed with King David. Tiernan and Julie above all because they’d been with King David the longest, and the regent trusted them the most.

  Ethyn wanted to stay close to the king and Ciara with the others lest the Brotherhood were somehow able to possess Phelan again, but David refused their plan. Both Ciara and Ethyn would stay inside his tent with him. The king understood she would not shift, but insisted she remain by Ethyn’s side. Rightly so, he was convinced that the couples tasked to protect him were strongest together.

  “He really has come a long way since the beginning,” Ethyn said to Ciara telepathically. “Though life willnae always be easy, he’s far better equipped for it now than he was before.”

  Despite the flicker of distress in his eyes at the sounds of warfare igniting in the distance, David remained composed, waiting for the inevitable.

  “I couldn’t agree more about David,” Ciara replied yet sounded concerned. “I wish Phelan could be with him right now, though. That she could bring him comfort.”

  “She is with him,” he assured. “Inside you, Ciara. And he knows that.”

  “I hope so.”

  Fortunately, for his sake, David had no clue what was happening on Halidon Hill. Though Regent Douglas had put off attacking until mid-day when the River Tweed was at its fullest height, it made little difference. The English already had high ground and a solid strategy.

  For starters, baiting the Scots.

  Because of the nature of the terrain, like the English, Douglas’s knights and men-at-arms had dismounted for battle before advancing across the bog. Unfortunately, while the English barraged the center and right side of the Scottish line with arrows from their perch above, the far fiercer fight was on the left.

  Suffice it to say, despite the passion of the warring, the battle would be over quickly when the Scottish forces broke rank and attempted to flee. For most of the heavily armored and dismounted knights were hampered not only by the bog but by their own grooms, who, witnessing the defeat in the valley below, turned and fled with the horses.

  Of course, seeing this, the English mounted and pursued. According to history, when that happened, Douglas was killed, and Berwick surrendered.

  Yet it would not happen that way if the Brotherhood stopped it.

  Therefore, Douglas had to be lured back here sooner. Then, and only then, would history be seen through. Better yet, manipulated without anyone being the wiser.

  “’Tis working,” Aidan said into Ethyn’s mind. “The regent led the charge, now he’s fighting his way back in your direction.”

  “He’s possessed then?”

  “’Tis impossible to know for certain,” Aidan replied. “Several Scotsmen travel with him so it could be any one of them. As could it be any of the Sassenach soldiers in pursuit.”

  “Aye, then.�
� He withdrew the Viking sword and asked King David to remain where he was. Danger headed their way.

  “’Tis Regent Douglas, aye?” David said sadly. “But not really my regent at all.”

  “Mayhap,” Ethyn replied. “In truth, any coming now could be the enemy.” He lay a dagger in front of the king and met his eyes. “’Tis best ye keep that in mind, my King.”

  David took the blade and stood, determination in his eyes. “Aye.”

  “Cousin, prepare yourself, for I sense—” Aidan’s telepathic message ceased abruptly. With it, the remainder of his urgent warning.

  “Bloody hell,” Ethyn cursed. He peered out the tent entrance, sensing the incoming darkness moments before he saw it. “The Brotherhood is coming at us with everything it’s got this time.”

  Ciara peered out as well and frowned at the darkness seeping through the trees. Those who had remained held their weapons at the ready.

  Cray glanced over his shoulder at Ethyn. “’Tis not just the Brotherhood but Marek...I feel him drawing closer.”

  “What of Leviathan?” He frowned. “Is he not with him?”

  “I dinnae sense the Viking.” Cray’s dragon eyes ignited. “Just darkness...and my brother.”

  “He is nearly here,” Grant said out of nowhere. His form flickered nearby then vanished as though it could not sustain its shape in the unstable atmosphere. For their surroundings felt truly off. As cold as the encroaching darkness.

  It just so happened, not only was Marek nearly there but Regent Douglas, a handful of his fellow Scotsmen and several Englishmen. In fact, they came so hard and so fast in a flurry of hooves and battling men, it was impossible to know who was possessed and who wasn’t.

  “Bloody Sassenach,” Ethyn cursed when an English soldier leapt off his horse onto him, and they tumbled back into the tent. Meanwhile, much to his chagrin, a sword ripped open the opposite side of the large tent, and Marek stepped through. His eyes and aura were as dark as they’d been at the Stonehenge.

  If that wasn’t bad enough, but fully expected, Ciara shifted into Phelan and stood in front of David, determined to protect him. As Ethyn and the Sassenach clashed swords, her hackles went up, and she bared her teeth at Marek. In turn, his cousin’s eyes grew darker, and he growled right back.

  Yet the sound was different. Raspy. Not that of a dragon but pure evil.

  Though David visibly shook, he didn’t let go of his dagger but held it at the ready, his voice wobbly as he demanded that Marek leave. He was not allowed to hurt his wolf.

  “He tries to protect you as you protect him,” he said into Phelan’s mind, hoping their telepathic connection might protect her from being possessed. “A noble wee king indeed.”

  “Yes, he is,” she replied. “And I’m okay, Ethyn. I feel stronger than I have since this all began. Fully Phelan. Not vulnerable.”

  “Good.” Yet that didn’t keep him from continuing to talk to her as he sliced his opponent’s throat open only for another and another to enter. This time both were undoubtedly possessed, their eyes black as they came at him with vicious rage.

  In the meantime, Phelan growled and dodged Marek’s slashes as he tried to get closer to David. Though fearful for her and David, Ethyn realized there might be hope. As he battled the men coming at him, his magic ignited in a way it never quite had before.

  “’Tis not just the power of the ring igniting but my Fianna,” he said to her, moving with supernatural speed that allowed him to down his rivals in little time. Three more entered. “This is what my Fianna brothers meant in the forest when they welcomed me back.”

  He was no longer an immortal Irish warrior, but he was their brethren again. Of their magic in a way that he hadn't been before. Fighting in a fashion that, unbelievably enough, outdid his previous fighting.

  There was awe in her internal voice. “Your eyes are glowing like your fellow Fianna, Ethyn. They’re with you. In you.”

  He felt as much too. Honored. Favored. More grateful than they would ever know.

  He ducked, swirled, and slashed his sword rapidly, barely aware that the tent had been ripped away. Hardly realizing that he fought a mini-battle right there in the encampment. One made up of his kin and possessed Scots and Sassenachs. Allies became enemies and enemies more brutal by the moment.

  Yet somehow, he knew it was going to come down to one enemy.

  One incredibly powerful opponent, he would not hesitate to cut down if it meant protecting Ciara and David.

  Almost as if he anticipated it, Marek whipped a dagger at Ethyn so fast that it took supernatural speed to dodge it. Unfortunately, or sadly, fortunately, in this case, it hit someone else instead. He glanced over his shoulder only to see Regent Archibald Douglas fall to his death with Marek’s blade protruding from his throat.

  He had no time to wonder if mayhap his cousin had done that on purpose before the two of them finally went at each other.

  “Och, nay,” he cursed as they crossed blades.

  In a way, it felt like history repeated itself.

  He swore the Irish Stonehenge shimmered around them.

  That Fianna warriors surrounded them.

  “Ethyn,” Phelan warned, keeping a defensive stance in front of David. “Be careful.”

  “Aye, my friend.” He suddenly felt her essence as the faithful wolf she had been for so long rather than the woman he loved. “I willnae let him hurt ye or wee David.”

  Yet he knew as he and Marek fought viciously, crossing both sword and dagger faster than the eye could see, that Phelan could care less about herself. Only him. The human she had long loved and sworn to protect.

  Sadly, as Marek battled him, Ethyn realized there was going to be no choice. Whatever possessed his cousin was deep-rooted and unwilling to let go of him until it accomplished its goal. Until it killed King David and perhaps even Phelan.

  “’Tis not precisely like that,” Cray said into Ethyn’s mind, evidently sensing something alarming in his brother. “’Tis hard to see but ye need to brace yerself, cousin, for—”

  That’s all he got out before what Cray sensed from Marek unraveled with heartbreaking precision. Something Marek, though he didn’t remember it, had—like Grant said—been undoubtedly warning Ethyn about when they fought in Scotland surrounded by Fianna. That fight hadn’t in some way echoed Ciara being turned for the first time or have anything to do with her ultimate death in their previous life, but her demise in this one.

  A warning he was by no means prepared for.

  How could he considering how brutal it would be? How devastating?

  Marek dodged left, right, and spun, somehow luring Ethyn’s every action, his very magic, after him. He did it so well, so effortlessly, that it took him a moment to register Marek had spun them in such a way that Ethyn faced Phelan. Then another moment to realize his cousin had driven his sword into the wolf again.

  Only this time, his hand was wrapped around Ethyn’s on the hilt of the Viking sword.

  This time, with Marek’s clever guidance, Ethyn had slain Phelan.

  He had just driven the blade through his wolf.

  Worse than that, through the woman he loved.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  IT TOOK CIARA a moment to realize Ethyn had not just somehow driven his sword through King David but her. Then another to realize the king was no longer there.

  Nor, for that matter, were their surroundings.

  “Ethyn?” she said into his mind, not upset with him but like always, terrified to leave him again. This time, however, felt so much worse. So much sadder.

  “Och, my friend,” Ethyn choked out. “My lass.” He pulled the blade free, crumbled to the ground, and held her wolf just as he had in the cave. Just as he had beneath the oak in front of their stone. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she managed. Fianna warriors once again surrounded them as she felt life draining from her. “It wasn’t you.” She whimpered and rested her head against him. “I don’t
want to end up at the stone in Scotland again. I don’t want to be alone this time.”

  “Ye willnae be alone.” He held her tighter. “I willnae let ye go.”

  Yet she was fading, her lifeblood leaving her once more, the world growing dimmer.

  “We’re there,” Ethyn said softly, anguished. “We’re at the Clava Cairns, and I’ve still got you.”

  She could barely keep her eyes open, but she knew he was right.

  They were in front of their stone at the Stonehenge in Scotland.

  “The sun’s almost set.” She felt Ethyn's essence in her mind as the human she had loved for so long. Her person. The one she protected no matter what. “I won’t be here much longer, friend.”

  “Och, nay.” He pulled her closer as if holding her tighter would keep her from leaving him. From going somewhere he couldn’t follow. “Dinnae leave me, Phelan...Ciara...just dinnae.”

  Yet she knew when she couldn’t shift back that she had no choice.

  Her time had come and like before she was slipping away.

  She looked to the setting sun one last time and closed her eyes, desperate to stay with him but fading. He grew further and further away as darkness closed in. She tried to say farewell, a final goodbye, but it was no use.

  She was too far gone.

  “Och, dinnae say goodbye to life quite yet, wee one,” came Ethyn’s distant voice, saying the very words he’d said when he found her as an injured pup years ago. Pale green Fianna light began filling the darkness. Then the shine of a gem on a Claddagh ring. His words grew closer. “For ‘tis not yer time if ye but stay with me a while longer, aye?”

  The green of her gem and Fianna magic receded as she cracked her eyes open to a rising sun. Ethyn crouched over her just as he had done when she was a pup. When he was saving her. Yet this time, she wasn’t injured to the point of near-death.

  Rather, she felt life filling her.

  Slowly, but surely it filled her until she felt a jolt of energy and leapt to her feet. He laughed as she raced into his arms only to find herself not in his arms but standing with his arms wrapped around her.