Chapter Four
“Make a wish on the shimmer of the first Solstice star the first evening of December, and then when it fades after the full moon.”
Desmond stomped his feet to ward off the chill within his body as he stood in the partial enclosure of Aonach’s entrance. Rubbing his hands together, he gazed outward at the cold, frigid morning. The storm had lasted two days and brought freezing air. What fools they had been to think they could get any work done on the castle. Aye, they did manage to finish a section of the kitchens and Great Hall, but nothing more could be done.
Ten full days alone with the Dragon Knight had done naught to improve their kinship. Neither spoke much as they worked. When the sun left the sky, each was content to eat in silence and then seek his bed by the fire.
When the storm came, their moods worsened. Alastair took to his carving of chess pieces, which he favored. However, Desmond had no desire to sit still. He wandered the castle’s interior, testing places that were weak or required more stone. His suggestions were received with a nod or grunt when he gave his account to the Dragon Knight.
By the Gods how Desmond longed to return to Eire.
“Ice has taken hold of the land,” commented Alastair, handing him a cup of ale.
“Aye,” grumbled Desmond.
“Possibly when the sun warms the land, we can make our way back to Urquhart.”
“Agreed.” He took a sip of the ale and leaned against the stone. Curious, he asked, “Why did ye choose to build a new castle? I thought the Dragon Knights favored Urquhart.”
Alastair swirled the contents of his cup. “A request from our sister, Meggie, when we saw her last Samhain.”
Desmond had heard the tale from Fiona. All the Dragon Knights and their families traveled the veil of time into the future—one where their sister lived unbeknownst to them. There, they fought the final battle with the evil druid, Lachlan. However, their victory was overshadowed by finding out Meggie could not venture back in time with them. Her life was now in the future. They would never be able to see her again. A great loss, stated Fiona. Though she lived, the brothers still mourned her.
“Did she state why?” he asked, studying the Dragon Knight’s features.
Alastair drank deeply and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nae. She asked us to trust her.”
“Trust,” he muttered. “I ken it well with Fiona.”
“Do ye?”
Desmond’s hand tightened around the mug. “Aye. She continually uses the word.”
“Why? Is there something amiss between ye and her?”
He glanced sharply at Alastair. “Nae. Should there be?”
The Dragon Knight’s expression hardened. “Ye speak in riddles. No better than a druid.”
Desmond clenched his jaw so tightly he feared it would snap. He had no wish to discuss his relationship with Fiona, or anything else. All he wanted was to leave this place. He glanced outward at the bleak morning. “When can we depart?”
“Ye are an ass, O’Quinlan. Nevertheless, for the sake of my wife, I will not ask ye any more questions. We can leave in a few hours.”
Fury burst inside him, and Desmond pitched the cup out into the trees. He turned on the Dragon Knight. “I am not the one who left Fiona!”
Alastair’s eyes shifted, and the ground rumbled beneath them. “Explain your meaning, O’Quinlan, or I will rip it from your tongue.”
“Not once, did ye make amends for leaving her! Ye did not witness her anguish and torment.” He pounded his fist against his chest unable to stop the flow of words. “Ye did not travel with her and suffer her pain and fury. Thank the Gods, I did not take a blade to ye when ye first appeared on the road to find her.”
Without warning, Alastair leveled a fist to Desmond’s jaw. He stumbled backward, landing against the wall.
“Ye are a bastard,” he spat out. “I live each day with what I did to Fiona. I was a broken man, and she healed me—soothed the dragon beast within me. It will take a lifetime to make amends to my wife. But I make no apologies to ye. This is between me and Fiona, not ye!” He waved his hand outward. “Is this your burning rage that has settled around ye? From the moment ye came to our door, ye have wanted to take a fist to me. Was not the blood drawn in the lists enough?” Alastair stalked toward him.
“Ye are not worthy of her love,” snarled Desmond.
Alastair halted. A look of sadness passed over his features, and Desmond regretted the barb.
Alastair sighed. “Ye are correct. Nevertheless, I love Fiona with my verra soul. She is my life—the verra part of what is good. What do ye ken of the word? Have ye loved anyone where it consumed ye body and soul? Where ye made choices which were not sound? Has anyone left ye without breath and then filled ye with joy the next?”
Desmond’s breathing became labored. The blow of the Dragon Knight’s words slammed into him, and he looked away. “I have never loved another,” he uttered quietly.
“When ye have, then we shall continue this conversation. Until then, I suggest ye mend the rift between ye and Fiona. ’Tis bad enough I have caused her pain, but I will not have anyone—no matter if they be kin, hurt her. Do ye ken my meaning, O’Quinlan?”
He glanced sharply at the man. “I would never hurt Fee.”
Alastair nodded and walked away. “Prepare to depart within the hour.”
Desmond’s shoulders slumped. In all his life, he had never experienced what Alastair spoke about. Aye, he loved his family, but it was not the same. That kind of love was foreign to him. A word—feeling he could not fathom. None of the women of his village interested him. Aye, there were those who came to his bed willingly, but he had no desire to take any as a wife. Is this what was missing in his life? Was he jealous of the love the Dragon Knight and his sister had for each other?
“Nae,” he growled, raking a hand through his hair. “I have nae wish to have someone cleave my heart in two. Ever.”
Striding back inside, he sealed off the emotions. Soon, he would be back in Navan—home and life would continue as it always had—in peace.
****
Ailsa lifted her head to the warm sunshine streaming down. Stretching her arms, she worked out the stiffness in her shoulders and back. Two long days spent in the cave with her father and his guards had sapped her energy and nerves. Her father was the worst. Lashing out with harsh words, or standing by the entrance, his hands fisted on his hips. He was a man not prone to sitting for any length of time, and his foul mood affected everyone.
“Would ye care for some water?” asked Tam coming up alongside her and handing her a water skin, along with her cloak.
She almost wept for joy. “Aye, most definitely.”
He chuckled softly. “I grew tired of the sour ale as well.”
“I swear, when we return, I might be tempted to take over the making of the drink. Ever since my father replaced the aging Bronag with Fergus, the ale has been horrid. Bronag had a special way of making the ale. It was never bitter. When did ye have time to find fresh water?”
“There was no need, since I left the water skin open outside in the crevice of a rock during the storm.”
Drinking fully, she relished the cool liquid. Handing the water skin back to the druid, she smiled at him. “Thank ye.”
He shook his head. “Keep it. I have another.”
“Bless ye, Tam.” Tucking it against her chest, Ailsa was grateful for the simple gesture. “Is our chieftain making ready to leave?”
“Praise the Gods and Goddesses, aye.”
“I will be along shortly.”
“Dinnae tarry, Lady Ailsa.”
She tilted her chin up. “I have no intention of stirring the ire of the great MacDuff.”
“I fear we all strive to stay out of his harsh path. Furthermore, ye must remember that losing your mother was a blow to him as well.”
Ailsa clenched her jaw. “Aye, as ye have stated many times on our journey.”
The druid glanced up at the sky. “We all grieve differently.”
She followed his movement. “There will be no more rain. Yet, I fear snow is coming.”
Tam slowly lowered his head and leveled a gaze at her. “And possibly something else.” He turned and made his way back to the horses.
Shaking her head, Ailsa did not have time to unravel the druid’s words. Taking another sip of her precious water, she placed the water skin on the ground and proceeded to braid her hair. Finally taking the two braids, she twisted them around her head and secured the mass with one of her mother’s favorite combs. One, which she wore on special occasions. Carved from the ancient rowan trees on their island, it was fashioned in the shape of a dragon with an emerald embedded in the eye. It was a cherished item, passed down from seven generations of O’Neill’s.
“Ye are almost home, Mother,” she whispered.
Taking a deep breath in, Ailsa released it slowly. Brushing out her gown with her hands as best she could, she adjusted the dirk on the belt around her waist. Fastening her cloak, she retrieved the water skin and made her way to her horse.
She skirted quickly to the left to avoid her father, and took the reins of her horse from Tam. Mouthing a word of thanks to the druid, she mounted and secured the water skin.
Ailsa watched as her father finally lifted his hand for all to move forward.
Although she was grateful their journey had once again begun, sadness lingered, too. They were no more than a day’s ride from where they would scatter her mother’s ashes. She bit the inside of her cheek when a sudden rush of emotion swept through her. The pain of saying goodbye again was too much to endure. Ailsa placed the heel of her palm against her chest.
Tam was correct. Everyone grieves differently. Perchance, she had been too harsh when it came to her father. This journey was not one he wished to take, but he did so without complaint.
All for love.
The very word was foreign to Ailsa. She bore a great love for her mother, and yes for her father also. However, she had never experienced true love for another man. Furthermore, she had no desire to marry any man from her clan. Though her parents argued she should consider the marriage offers, which were numerous, Ailsa did not see herself with any of them. Often times, she found flaws in the men—they flirted with all the other females, laughed too loudly, smelled horrid, drank excessively, and found the need to touch her in places that were not proper. In addition, a few promptly informed her that once wed, she could no longer maintain her warrior status among her clan.
Even last year, her father had threatened to marry her off without her consent. Telling her a woman of five and twenty summers was ancient, and if she did not agree to any of her suitors, then he would choose for her.
She had no wish to be in a marriage without the passion she had heard others whisper about. Ailsa had made up her mind that the man she would marry must steal the breath from her lungs, make her skin tingle with his touch, and consider her an equal when it came time for her to rule the island. Her heart yearned for love, and she would settle for nothing less.
“I could rule the island myself without any man,” she muttered into the cold air.
Then again, she understood her people would not look favorably on a union without a husband. And a part of her longed for the touch of another—the stolen kisses she’d seen between other couples. Her mother had urged her on her deathbed to reconsider an offer soon. Time was slipping by.
Ailsa blew out a frustrated sigh. Glancing up at the sky, she realized her mother would never witness the occasion. Time had not mattered before her mother became ill. They all took it for granted. But death stole precious time away from all of them. It took her best friend, hardened her father, and sent a chilling revelation. Each day, each hour was a treasure.
Squaring her shoulders, Ailsa was now more intent on not settling for any man. She only prayed one day, the Gods and Goddesses would deliver him.
“Foolish thought,” she snapped. “We make our own destiny. I am not going to wait for one to appear.” Yet, when Ailsa glanced at her father, she understood her time of freedom without a man would soon end.
Ailsa grimaced and leaned forward to pat Elva’s mane, only to hear the hiss of an arrow pass near the side of her head. Shouts erupted ahead of her, and she struggled to keep her horse steady. Instantly removing her dirk from its sheath, she watched in horror as men emerged forth from the trees.
“English,” she spat out. “Go to the trees,” she ordered Tam.
He departed, and she looked in horror as more of the enemy came into view.
“Get out of here!” bellowed her father as he used his shield to deflect a blow to the head.
Another arrow hurtled from the trees, taking out one of their guards. Ignoring her father’s demand, Ailsa swallowed back bile and charged forward, slashing at the face of the enemy who had killed her friend. His screams tore through the air, and she kicked him hard in the side. Her foe was unprepared for her attack and fell to the ground.
“Get the woman,” shouted one of their attackers.
“Ye will never take me,” she snarled, as two men came charging toward her.
Turning her horse abruptly to flee, she was leveled with a blow to the back. The pain so intense, Ailsa fought the wave of dizziness. Her horse balked as her attacker tried to yank her off and onto his mount. Feigning weakness, she slumped forward. His stench clogged her senses, but she remained steady and kept her eyes on the club he had used to attack her. Leaning near the man, she lifted her dirk and shoved with all her might into his stomach. Raising her head, she gazed into eyes that held shock. Ailsa shoved him away and watched when he fell to the ground.
“You bitch. I will see you die this day!” shouted another man.
“Ye have a foul tongue—one I aim to remove from your mouth.” She let her dirk fly, but the man was swifter and deflected the blade.
Glancing around, Ailsa quickly dismounted from her horse and grabbed a discarded shield and sword. Letting out a hiss from the sharp pain, she stumbled backward.
The man’s laugh was sinister. “Before you die, I will take my fill of you.”
Beads of sweat broke out along her brow when he dismounted. There was no time to think about her injury as his steps became predatory. She gripped the shield tighter—anticipating his first blow and praying she could hold him back. Yet, it never came. For Gordon delivered a blade to the enemy’s back.
Preparing herself for the next onslaught, she fought the wave of terror when she witnessed her father battling two men. There were too many. If captured, Ailsa would suffer at the hands of the enemy. And her father would surely die trying to save her.
She watched Gordon remove his dirk from the dead man. His eyes blazed with fury. “Find shelter!”
Letting out a curse, Ailsa went to retrieve her dirk and dashed over to her horse. Grabbing the reins, she quickly got on top and took off for the dense forest. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Saying a silent plea to the Gods to watch over her father and the rest of his men, she urged her horse on farther. Seeking help was her only solution. Cowering in the trees was not.
“Ye will not die, Father,” she uttered on a choked sob.