Dragon Knight's Medallion
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Full shock registered inside her brain
as she realized where she’d seen this man. Her body started to quake, and she clutched her hands to her chest.
“No, th...this
cannot be
,” she choked out. “Tell me who you are. I demand to know your name!”
Are all the fae so dumb
and
beautiful, he thought. “Ye ken who I am.” Stephen’s head caught a glimpse of the fae, as she started to take a few hesitant steps backwards. What the bloody hell was wrong with her? She was standing too close to the edge. If she was not careful, she would slip on over.
Why did he care? She could just vanish, right? Stephen rubbed his face, the remnants of a headache still behind his eyes. Sweet Bridget! Now the fae was yelling at him.
She waved her hands, all the time shaking her lovely head. “You are
not
him!”
He had to put a stop to this, or she would fall. Perhaps, she was a
daft
fae. He certainly did not know their ways, nor did he want to find out. However, this creature was becoming more agitated, and for some unfathomable reason, he did not want her to come to any harm.
“Och, fae healer, stop your babbling,” he dismounted with a groan.
“No, no, no!” Pointing a finger at him, she continued to walk backwards. Stumbling, her foot twisted among some tree roots, causing her to lose her balance.
Stephen swore as he lunged for her, grasping her arm and crushing her against his chest. “Are ye truly daft?”
Praise for Mary Morgan
“Powerful, intense, romantic.. all great words to describe this fabulous book. I seriously can’t wait for the next book!!”
~Tea and Book
~*~
“I am so happy to have read this book and have a new author to add to my list. Watch out for this lady and keep updated on her books. It is so worth it. I mean Dragons, Druids, Fae and Highlanders all in one book. How can you go wrong.”
~Kimi’s Medieval Blog
~*~
“The author has created a fantastic fantasy world with her own special spin on ancient legends and myth that spins a web and ensnares the reader. The story has some surprising twists and lots of charming characters and takes the reader on a journey to historical Scotland.”
~Literary Addicts
Dragon Knight’s Medallion
by
Mary Morgan
Order of the Dragon Knights Series
Book 2
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Dragon Knight’s Medallion
COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Mary Morgan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Debbie Taylor
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Faery Rose Edition, 2014
Print ISBN 978-1-62830-644-6
Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-645-3
Order of the Dragon Knights Series, Book 2
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
For my mother,
who taught me how to fly over the rainbow.
Acknowledgements
I poured my heart and soul into this book (and the first one), which I could not have done without the support of so many people.
Thanks to my children, Noelle, Amanda, and Nicholas. Your words and support mean the world to me. I love you all “to the moon and back”! You kept the faith when I faltered.
A big round of hugs to my “Borders Romance Readers Group.” Your excitement, tears of joy and love keep me going. You are my first street team!
Many thanks with love to my sisters, Mimi and Vici, and my big brother, Randy. You have inspired me to become a better person. I may be the oldest, but it doesn’t mean I’m the wisest of souls.
Finally, a big thank you to my husband—for listening to my endless story plots, and for showing me how to use Google Earth! Now, I can take a trip to Urquhart and sit at the entrance for inspiration. It’s the little things I love about you that make my life complete.
Prologue
They were an ancient order, descended from the great Tuatha De Danann, the Sidhe, or in simpler terms,
the fae
. Half human and half fae, each one blessed with mystical powers. Each warrior given Holy Relics from the Tuatha De Danann and guardianship over their Dragons.
They were known as
Dragon Knights
.
With the dawn of Christianity, the Dragons were systematically hunted down and slain, leaving only one. She was taken from Ireland to a land across the sea, settling in the Great Glen near Urquhart with the MacKay Clan, descendents from the MacAoidh.
Yet, there were those who believed the Order had too much power, and they tried to possess it for themselves. They were evil and twisted, and their plan succeeded one fateful night.
The brothers of the Clan MacKay—
Dragon
Knights
, fought a battle. Blood spilled onto holy ground, bringing forth the wrath of the fae. Their relics were taken, the Order banished, and their names stricken from the Hallowed Halls of the fae.
However, not all was lost. For the fae loved these men.
Therefore, a quest for redemption was given to each. Duncan MacKay, the first brother fulfilled his. Now it was time for another sibling to step forward.
This brother will renounce his own heritage, seeking solace behind the walls of an abbey.
Nonetheless, peace will elude him—for danger lurks within the shadows.
In order to confront his future, he must accept his past.
And for Stephen MacKay, the light of redemption and love will come from the very source he seeks to escape.
Chapter One
Arbroath Abbey, Scotland—Spring Equinox 1206
“Lugh’s balls!” he roared. The pain seared into his head like a burning spear. Shards of blazing torment pounded in his ears, the agony so intense, he collapsed at the river’s edge. Beads of sweat trickled down from his temple as he gasped for air knowing that if he did not regain control, he would black out from the excruciating pain. He realized what would follow, and with every ounce of his being, he tried to block the force attacking him. Another shard of pain lanced through his mind, causing a guttural cry to escape his throat. The power was too strong. His mind screamed at him to let it in, and with a moan of defeat, he did.
The vision slammed into him with a formidable energy, angry that it had been denied access. Layers of colors and images flew across his mind’s eye and try as he might, he could not control their flight. Warriors with swords clashed in battle, screams filled his ears. The vision peaked, and he could see himself standing in the center—drenched in blood with the bodies of his fellow monks slain at his feet.
“Nae!” His fists pounded into the riverbank, as he shook with the violence he had witnessed.
Laughter, vile and evil, echoed somewhere in the realm of his vision, and when the last wave of the revelation blurred from his sight, he retched violently onto the ground.
Taking deep gulps of air into his lungs, he slowly returned to his surroundings. He needed to heal quickly, and reached out a trembling hand toward the water. Allowing his instinct to guide him, he drew the water to him. It gently caressed his outstretched hand, and he formed a cup with his fist. Bringing his unsteady hand up to his head, he relished the cool liquid as it washed over him, feeling its healing power descend over and through his body. He understood he took a great risk if anyone came upon him, but if he did not, the consequences would be dire.
As expected, the water helped soothe the raging pain still centered behind his eyes. He waited patiently, until the last wisps of the vision left. Taking another deep cleansing breath, he noticed his heart had regained its normal beating. Slowly he opened his eyes. He thanked God for the gray, misty morning. Without it, the sun’s light would hurt his sight.
The sound of water lapping gently at the edge of the stream carried a gentle healing power. Bending low, he cupped both hands within the water and lifting them out, watched as the water turned to ice. Taking it, he placed it on the back of his neck to help with the pain.
Sitting back on his haunches, he heard his horse snicker and then nudged him slightly. “Aye, my friend...I’m still among the living,” his voice sounding hoarse.
After the last remnants of the ice melted, Stephen MacKay stood on shaky limbs, and his gaze wandered out toward the trees. This vision had nearly destroyed him, and he cursed the power that sent them.
When he and his brothers had been doomed, and their relics stripped that Samhain night, his relic—a stone he wore around his neck—was the only item able to control his visions. He could care less about the pagan item, but it was a powerful tool that worked with his power of sight and water. Without it, the visions had become more intense, almost blinding. Once when he had lost consciousness, he woke lying in his own vomit. If only the Guardian had removed his powers along with his stone. Instead, he was reminded each day his blood flowed with that of the fae.
Bile rose within him. He fought it and taking another cleansing breath of the brisk air, he turned to see Grian, his great warhorse eyeing him warily.
Stephen reached out a hand, and Grian trotted forward. “What would I do without ye?” He heaved a great sigh, and giving a scratch behind the horse’s ear, took one last look around before mounting, and then slowly making his way back through the thicket of trees.
As they made their way through pine and oak, Stephen tried to push aside the vision. It was one that foretold the future—a bloody sign for his fellow monks. What did it mean? Why was he the only one left standing? Could he have slain his fellow brothers? He fisted his hands on the pommel. “Nae, it cannae be!” he growled.
Grian reared up at the sound of approaching footsteps. Stephen went for his sword, more on instinct, until he saw it was only Brother Osgar. “God’s teeth! Ye ken better than to walk right up to Grian,” he bellowed.
“Truly?” Osgar stood out from the large oak, arms crossed and tucked into his monk’s gray robe.
If Stephen did not know better, he would have taken him for a passing druid. He could not fathom wearing the long robes, thinking them too constrictive in movements. No, he favored his leather trews and tunic, which he belted at times with leather.
“Aye, ye ken this horse does not welcome ye, or any of the monks.”
“Humph! Pray tell me
why
said beast then accepts the apples I give him?” Osgar cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowed more at Grian than Stephen.
