Dragon Knight's Axe (18 page)

Why did he care?

He had no room for distractions. Nevertheless, she had wedged herself inside him without him realizing what she had done.

Watching a lone hawk circle in the distance, Alastair pondered her questions. He may long for his brothers’ company, but it did not change what they all had done. Duncan and Stephen may have found their peace—he however would not seek any.

Making his way around a narrow path, he and his party emerged into a clearing. Other druids came forward to help Kevan ease Desmond off the horse, taking him away to a large wooden structure nestled under some oaks. The smell of cooking reached Alastair, and his stomach protested loudly.

“So, you’re tired of fish, too?” yawned Fiona.

Alastair chuckled, noting he laughed often around her. “Aye, smells of soup and bread.”

He quickly dismounted. When he turned around, she reached out, wrapping her arms around his neck. Holding her in his arms, their gazes locked, sorely tempting him to capture a kiss.

“You can put me down,” she whispered.

“Are ye sure?”

“No. I mean…
of course
,” she blurted out.

Instantly, the blush crept up from her neck and spread across her face. Alastair had the strangest desire to see if it would extend to other parts of her body—the swell of her breast, perhaps, or the curve of her bum?

“Umm…Alastair?”

Shaking his head to rid the vision from his mind, he slowly lowered her to the ground, turning quickly. Perchance, she would not see his swollen cock, but he had no doubt she felt it when her body brushed against his.

Grabbing Gawain’s reins with trembling hands, Alastair stormed off in the opposite direction, seeking the cooling water of the stream, not fully comprehending how one mere slip of a lass could unravel the
Dubh Dragon
.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Do not fear the red cap, green jacket, or the owl’s white feather, for it is only the faeries trooping down the glen.”

“What do ye mean he cannae travel for several weeks?” Alastair wanted to pitch the contents of his mug at the druid. After three days of patiently waiting for Desmond’s fever to break, it did so yesterday. Yet, the healer deemed it unsafe for the man to travel for at least a month.

“He is in no condition to journey farther into the Great Glen. Ye and Fiona are welcome to stay with us. We will not be traveling until Samhain,” replied Alan.

“Then I shall travel the rest of the journey alone.” Swallowing the last of his mead, Alastair slammed the mug down on the table.

“Ye cannot leave without Fiona,” said Kevan, stepping into the room.

Snarling, Alastair whirled around to face him. “Ye would risk her good name with me? Alone?” He threw back his head and laughed at the absurdity.

“She has already agreed.”

His eyes blazed at the man. “’Tis not her decision.”

“The axe was entrusted into her care.”

“Nae!” roared Alastair, pointing a finger at him. “’Tis no longer her concern.” Reaching for the pitcher of mead, he poured a hefty amount into his mug causing some to spill onto the table.

“You are drunk, Alastair.”

He turned slowly to see Fiona standing at the door, her arms crossed over her luscious breasts. Ignoring her words, he lifted his mug at her in salute before downing its contents. Flinging it across the room, he stalked over to her.

She never even flinched.

“Ye are
not
leaving with me.”

Making a sweeping motion with her hand, she stepped back, glaring at him.

He could feel her eyes on his back as he made his way to his horse.

“Where did he get the mead?” asked Fiona.

“I am sorry, but he overheard us speaking about last month’s making of honey mead. We always brew a special batch for the midsummer celebration. It was a special occasion marking the handfasting of his brother, Stephen to Aileen,” responded Alan.

She frowned. “I would have thought that good news.”

“Nae,” Alan said, shaking his head sadly. “He is bitter that two of his brothers have found redemption.”

“Well, that explains his foul mood these past few days,” muttered Fiona as she watched him stumble toward his horse.

“Does he make ready to leave?” asked Kevan, seemingly stunned.

“Yes, but I give him ten, no make that twenty seconds before he realizes he is missing something.” Fiona smirked, leaning against the door.

They did not have to wait even that long.

“
Fiona!
” bellowed Alastair.

Kevan moved to the doorway and glanced at her. “Where is the axe?”

She sighed. “With Desmond. After my conversation with him, he wanted me to bring it to him. Desmond wanted to speak with Alastair. He does not wish me to go.”

“Yet, he understands this is your destiny. As much as your brother and Alastair have been at odds during this journey, ye are the one chosen,” stated Kevan, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Fiona nodded in understanding. “When Alastair sobers, send him to Desmond. I will wait for him there.”

****

Hours later, after Alastair had searched every horse and the entire surroundings, Kevan announced Desmond had the axe. It took all of his control not to bash the druid in the face. Was this some kind of folly? Desmond could barely move, so why would his axe be with Fiona’s brother?

His gut clenched when he opened the door to a small cottage. Fresh air streamed through an open window, and Fiona was feeding her brother some broth. The room was small holding only a cot and chair.

Neither of them looked his way when he entered.

“Have you had enough?” she asked.

“Aye, but I could use some of that mead I have heard the others speak of,” Desmond wheedled.

Alastair snorted. And both pairs of eyes turned toward him.

“Leave us, Fiona,” demanded Desmond.

Alastair could see she wanted to protest, but finally she relented. As she swept past him, he thought he heard her mumble something about an animal’s ass. He had been called far worse.

“Sit, MacKay.”

Alastair arched a brow and placed his hands on his hips. “I prefer to take my axe and leave.”

Desmond took his good arm and wiped it across his face, probably in frustration. Looking back up at Alastair, he pointed to where it stood against the wall behind him.

Giving him a curt nod, he went to retrieve it and made for the door.

“If ye are a man of honor, ye will hear my words.”

Alastair paused at the entrance. Desmond had struck out with the one thing that still mattered to him. He might be a brute, but he retained his code of honor. At least a small portion of what was left.

Turning around, he walked back into the room.

The man glared at him. “Ye will swear an oath to do all in your power to protect Fiona. Ye will also vow never to violate her in any way. She is my sister, and I have failed to see her complete her journey. I do not wish her to leave, but I cannot persuade her otherwise. I have left it in the hands of the Gods and Goddesses that this is her destiny.”

Alastair felt the fury boil within him. The bloody bastard expected him to take his sister with him? And now he had to swear an oath?

Fools, all of them!

“Dinnae fear, she is not accompanying me,” he growled.

“Ye cannot stop her. If ye leave without her, she will most likely follow ye.”

“’Tis madness, Desmond, and ye ken this!”

Desmond laid his head back and closed his eyes. For a brief moment, Alastair believed the man had slipped into a fever again until he heard him utter softly, “Have ye ever seen the Guardian?”

His words were like a fist to the chest. When he could regain his breathing, he answered, “Aye,
once
.”

Desmond opened his eyes and stared across the room. “As have I. She came to me many moons ago, weaving her words into my mind like strings on a harp. She told me my sister would return, and that I was to give her the Dragon Knight’s axe. Fiona would be its keeper until the day its true owner would claim it once again. Furthermore, on that day, they
both
must return it to the waters of the Great Glen and ask the Dragon to purify it. Your fates are woven together, Alastair, and if ye choose to break them, ye will alter all our destinies. And before ye ask, I made a promise to the Guardian not to speak of our conversation until ye both took the journey to Scotland. She left it to me for my time of choosing to tell ye both.”

A battle of emotions raged a war within Alastair. No matter how hard he tried to escape, the past kept pulling him down. He believed the sea was his punishment. But this revelation? This was far worse. What were his options?
None, ye fool.

“I swear I will do all in my power to protect your sister. No harm shall befall her in my care.” His words sounded hollow even to himself.

“Swear as a Dragon Knight.”

“I cannae, for I am no longer a Knight.”

“If ye were not a Dragon Knight, ye would not be here.”

He hesitated hating his next choice of words. “I swear as a
Dragon Knight
.”

“If ye fail, MacKay, I will kill ye.”

Alastair, who had made his way to the door, kept his back to Desmond as he spoke. “I would expect nothing less, O’Quinlan.”

Quickly leaving the cottage, he almost did not see Fiona pacing back and forth near the side of the building. In an effort that took all of his control, he stopped and waited for her to see him. His anger simmered below the surface. When she did turn, he could see the worry on her face.

“We leave before dawn,” he clipped out.

“I can accompany you?”

“Is that not what I said?” His tone almost a growl.

Immediately her eyes glazed over at him. “I’m not particularly happy about the situation, either. For one, I’m worried about Desmond.” She stepped closer. “Would it not be possible to wait a month until he can make the journey with us?”

“Nae! The sooner this task is completed, the sooner we can all go on with our lives.”

“If this is such a burden for you, why don’t you let me take care of the task?”

Burden?
She had no idea what her brother had asked of him. It weighed like a lodestone around his neck. “Get some rest, Fiona. The remainder of this journey will take us through the mountains.” Moving around her, he took his leave.

“Stay away from the mead, Alastair. I don’t want to be responsible for getting you back on your horse after you fall,” she shouted.

“Dinnae fear, Fiona O’Quinlan, for I have never fallen off my horse—sober or drunk,” he tossed out over his shoulder as he continued to walk away, intent on finding a pitcher of mead to numb the bitterness that seethed within him.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“If your mind and heart are raging a war, turn to the west and wait for the call of the Dragon. If you do not hear her voice, you are not ready to listen.”

Fiona clamped her mouth shut for the hundredth time. In the last three days, Alastair had done his best to ignore all attempts at conversation. Normally, she couldn’t care less, content with her own thoughts. Yet, she had questions, and she grew frustrated when he would grunt or shrug when she asked one.

His only form of communication took place when they stopped for a rest or for the night. Then he would shove food at her, sit with his back against a tree, and fiddle with his carvings. The detail he put into the pieces captivated her. When she asked him about them, his answer came in the way of a shrug.

Would it be too much to answer just one question?

The man was a conundrum. However, there were times when his eyes betrayed him. Alastair MacKay was a mystery, and she had no clue why she wanted to unravel his scathing nature.
Yes, you do.
You’re attracted to him, and he makes you feel things you can’t explain.

“This is where we will stop for the night.” Alastair’s words snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Ah, your usual comment for the day. How would I have guessed?” she uttered half out loud.

He ignored her comment and remained silent when he helped her dismount. Yet, something flickered at the outer corners of his mouth and for a fleeting moment, Fiona thought he might smile.

“I think I’ll gather some kindling,” she stated, her voice laced with an edge of sarcasm. “Of course you will, Fiona. You’ve been doing it for the past three days.” She sauntered off to collect scraps of wood with Merlin padding closely behind her.

When she had gathered an armful, she stood watching Alastair clear out an area for the wood. Dumping the wood on the ground, she grabbed the water skin and washed her hands and face as best she could. “Gosh, what I wouldn’t give for a nice, steaming, luxurious tub of
hot
water.”

Turning around, Fiona caught sight of Alastair staring at her open mouthed. “What?” She looked down at her gown. “Is there some critter attached to me?”

“And what would ye do with this hot water, Fiona?” His voice so low, she could barely make out his words.

“Why I would strip out of this gown and plunge into its depths.” The words flew out before she could stop them. And the look he gave her melted her insides. She swallowed. “Well, you see…I just wished for a bath,” she whispered.

He clenched his fists and took a step forward. Then he rubbed a hand over his face, and right before her eyes, he transformed back into the beast, cold and without emotion. “Finish collecting the wood.”

With her face burning, Fiona turned and walked away. Now, she wondered why she bothered to wash off in the first place.

****

Alastair splashed cold water onto his face, rubbing vigorously. It did nothing to squelch the desire humming through his blood. What possessed her to speak her mind so openly? She rambled as if there were two of her carrying on a conversation. It drove him daft trying to understand her and half the time he did not ken if she was speaking to him.

He found her mindless chatter to be the most charming feature about her. And that bothered him.

Each day spent in her company made it increasingly difficult to honor his vow to her brother. His nights were spent watching her as she slept. He would doze on and off, but would awake wanting to hold her in his arms. He desired Fiona O’Quinlan like no other.