Chapter Seven
“Dare to open the box of love and see all the glorious presents you could have missed.”
Gritting his teeth, Desmond dodged the blasted item that had continued to strike his face for the past few hours on their journey. The offensive piece was attached to a stunning head of gold tresses, and he wanted to rip it free. Whatever brew the druid had given Ailsa had caused her to sleep soundly. In addition, her head jerked with the movement of the horse.
At least the lass had stopped talking. Her words earlier unsettled him. Though she was touched with fever, he knew her to speak her mind. Did she not say it was a failing of hers? When she had slipped her arms around his neck, Desmond fought the urge to look into her eyes. If he had, he feared what he would have done next. Ailsa tempted him as no other had done, and this bothered him greatly.
Studying more intently the comb in her hair, he almost burst out in laughter. It was a beautifully carved dragon with a gem in its eye, seeming to be staring at him from its perch. He believed the Fae were mocking him with dragons everywhere.
Shifting his position, he tried to keep Ailsa steady and leaned her head against his shoulder. Her cheek grazed his chin, soft and warm. Desmond swallowed and tried to resist the lass in his arms. The scenery was far more important. With the undeniable arrival of King John’s men roaming the glen, he shook his head to rid his thoughts of the soft body he cradled.
Tam rode up alongside him. “She still sleeps?”
He arched a brow at the druid. “What was in her drink?”
Looking affronted, he sputtered, “Herbs…for healing and rest.”
“Ye should have waited to give her the sleeping draught when we reached Urquhart.”
“Agreed, but Lady Ailsa would have been uncomfortable riding with ye. I worried she would not have rested and fought the pain.”
Desmond cast a disapproving look at Tam. “Is there something wrong with me?”
“Ye ken what I mean.”
Leaning forward, Desmond adjusted the hood of her cloak over Ailsa’s head. “Will this make ye happy? Her fever seems to have lessened.”
The druid narrowed his eyes. “Call for me when she wakes.”
Watching as the man fell back behind him, Desmond began to count the hours until they would arrive at Urquhart. The sooner he released his hold on the lass, the better for all their moods.
By late afternoon, snow fell heavily. As they reached the outer edges of Urquhart, they were unable to see the looming fortress. Ailsa’s fever had also returned, and she moaned often. There was naught they could do, but keep moving forward. He adjusted his arm over her shoulders to keep her movements slight.
Alastair held up his hand. Bringing his horse to a halt, Desmond waited. The man dismounted and bent on one knee, examining the area. Raking a hand through his hair, the Dragon Knight walked over to him.
“Horse dung on the path. ’Tis not fresh, but I dinnae want to risk the chance of encountering King John’s men. Though it may be a lone traveler.”
“Another way?”
Alastair glanced upward. “Aye, but we shall not make it by nightfall to Urquhart with the weather.”
Unease slithered inside Desmond. If they took shelter under the trees, he feared for the safety of the lass. “Ailsa’s fever has returned.”
The others had gathered around Desmond and heard his words.
Tam moved his horse near his. Reaching outward, he placed two fingers on Ailsa’s forehead. She trembled in Desmond’s arms. “We must seek shelter for the Lady,” urged the druid.
“There is another way. If the storm abates, we can journey along the loch and come in behind Urquhart. Give me a few moments and I shall return,” stated Alastair.
Desmond nodded and pulled his own cloak around Ailsa. He gave no care for the outraged look on Muir’s face. If he wished to see his lady stay alive, he had to trust her into his keeping. He looked to her father. The drain of the battle and his own injuries showed on his face, but the determined look of a warrior held firm within in his eyes.
Reaching for his ale skin, Desmond passed it to the MacDuff. The man regarded his offer for a moment and then took the skin. Taking small sips, he handed it back. Extending the courtesy to Muir and Tam—each took a swig. Desmond took barely a sip and attached the ale skin to the front of his horse.
Moments slithered by and snow fell more heavily. Each man kept his gaze shifting around the area. Ailsa let out a groan as she moved within his arms. Now was not the time for the lass to wake. Sensing his animal’s frustration, he eased the reins and kept his focus on where Alastair departed.
The Dragon Knight appeared quietly from beneath the trees. Rubbing his hands together and stomping his feet, he quickly mounted his horse. “I have sent a message to my brothers, Duncan and Angus.”
“How is this possible?” demanded Muir.
Alastair ignored the man. “Duncan can ease the snowfall, and Angus will meet us near the northern end of the loch. He can bring forth the light.”
“Again, I ask ye—”
Alastair glared at the man. “I sent a wolf to Urquhart.” Turning around, he moved forward down the hill. “My wife will convey the messages.”
“My sister can speak with the animals, as well,” added Desmond. Seeing Muir’s stunned look, he turned away to hide his own mirth. Giving his horse a nudge, he followed Alastair.
Hearing Tam do his best to explain to Muir about the Dragon Knight’s powers caused Desmond to chuckle. Recalling his own encounter with the man when he arrived one morn in Eire with his sister, he could fathom why Muir had a difficult time believing Alastair could speak with the animals.
As for himself, Desmond was grateful for the Dragon Knight’s gift. He feared another night in the harsh elements, and Ailsa, though strong, would worsen.
“Wo…wolf?” She shivered in his arms.
Desmond leaned near her head. “Aye. Alastair can speak to the animals. He has sent a message to Urquhart for help.”
“Wh…why?” she sputtered out and then added, “Body hurts.”
“Go to sleep,” urged Desmond, trying to maneuver them down a narrow path between the trees.
“Too hot,” she murmured. “I should be on my own horse.”
“Nae. Rest, Ailsa.”
She grumbled something Desmond couldn’t understand and then became quiet. Saying a silent prayer she would remain so, he continued to move at a steady pace. The brittle air stung his face, but he gave no care. Keeping his focus on the path and trees, he let out a sigh, as her head slumped forward. Sleep, lass.
Snowfall and the sound of horses surrounded them on their journey. Onward they continued until the gray sky crept into early night.
When his horse stumbled into a snowdrift, the sting of cold on both their legs roused Ailsa.
“Get me off,” she protested weakly.
Biting back a curse, he firmly kept one arm around her.
She started to struggle. “Let…go.”
“For the love of Brigid, be still, Ailsa, or we will tumble off my horse.”
“Then ye get off,” she muttered.
Desmond was tempted to halt and have Tam give her another sleeping brew.
Finally, the area opened up and the loch appeared before them. “Thank the Gods.” Chafing his nose on his arm, he guided his horse downward. Making their way along the edge of the loch, they picked up their pace as the snowfall abated.
Smiling, he realized the wolf had reached Urquhart. Within an hour, light glimmered in the distance and relief coursed through Desmond. Angus came forth from the trees, brightness glowing around him and his horse.
“Praise the Gods and Goddesses,” proclaimed Tam.
“How much farther?” asked Bran, moving past the druid.
Desmond studied the man. “Through the trees and up a narrow incline. Angus is the leader of the Dragon Knights.”
Bran straightened fully. “We have heard the tales of the Fire Dragon.”
Angling his head at the man, Desmond asked, “Good or bad?”
“Honorable.”
“No…fi…fire,” mumbled Ailsa, shaking her head.
Bran removed his glove and reached across to touch her face. “Sweet Brigid, ye are burning up.”
“She will be in good care when we reach the castle. There is a healer among the women,” assured Desmond.
The man shifted on his horse. “Good. I have nae wish to bury my daughter along with her mother.”
As Angus approached, he had words with Alastair. Then, lifting the ball of light farther around them, he motioned for everyone to follow. Desmond had never witnessed the use of power by Angus, though he had with Alastair on many occasions. He marveled at the magic of the Fire Dragon within the man.
Onward their group traveled along the water. Curving to the right they cautiously made their way up the small incline. Nearing the top, one of the horses slipped, but Alastair was able to steady the animal before moving ahead to the top.
As Desmond came up beside him, Alastair reached over and placed a hand on the animal’s nose. Muttering soothing words to Desmond’s horse, he chuckled. “Aye, soon ye shall have food and warmth.”
Once again, Desmond witnessed the power Alastair MacKay had with the animals.
Bran and Muir gathered around them. The glow of Urquhart lit the night sky—a beacon to the weary travelers, and Desmond urged his horse forward. The dull ache in his left arm, which began several hours ago, he shoved aside. The warmth of the castle called forth and renewed energy filled him.
Entering through the portcullis, Duncan’s son, Finn, and the stable master, Tiernan greeted them. Soon, Duncan and Stephen came out, speaking with Alastair as he introduced Bran, Muir, and Tam.
Angus approached him. “Give me the lass, so ye can dismount.”
Desmond did his best to ease her off gently, but she groaned when he carefully handed her to Angus. Quickly dismounting, he stretched out his arms, and took Ailsa back.
“What happened?” asked Angus, gesturing him to move ahead.
“They were attacked by a few of King John’s men.”
“Where?”
“Not far from Aonach.”
“Bastards,” uttered Angus with contempt.
“Down,” rasped Ailsa. “Sick.”
Desmond placed her feet on the ground, but held her firmly. “Can ye walk?”
She shook her head and promptly threw up on his boots. “I am sor…sorry. Head and back hurts.”
“Shh…” Lifting her back into his arms, Desmond noticed Angus staring at him.
“There were none to tend to her. They suffer from their own injuries,” he divulged, glaring back at Angus.
Angus brushed a hand over his beard. “Wait here.”
Watching as the Dragon Knight went to the well, Desmond let out a groan as the man returned with a bucket of water and dumped it onto Desmond’s boots. “How kind of ye, Angus.”
As they entered the castle, Angus departed for the Great Hall where the rest of the men had gathered.
Fiona rushed to his side. “Aileen and Deirdre are preparing a room for her. Alastair explained what happened. Follow me.”
Slowly making their way up the stairs and along a corridor, Desmond followed his sister into a chamber. A fire blazed in the room, but it did naught to cast off the chill. “Can ye build up the blaze?”
“No, Desmond. If she has a fever, we don’t want the room to be stuffy. She’ll be comfortable under a light cover,” assured Aileen, placing a hand on the woman’s head. “Greetings, Lady Ailsa. My name is Aileen, and I shall be tending to you.”
“The druid gave her a brew this morn. She has drifted in and out of sleep.”
Aileen snorted and tossed her braid over her shoulder. “If she had not eaten, then it will make her feel this way. I’m shocked she didn’t become ill.”
“I did,” interjected Ailsa. “All over Desmond’s boots.”
“Oh, goodness.” Fiona smirked and looked away.
“Bring her over to the bed,” ordered Aileen.
Striding forward, Desmond placed her back upon the pillows and she let out a cry. “Forgive me, Ailsa.”
“’Tis all right,” she whispered, gazing up at him.
The moment Aileen undid her cloak, she gasped. “Has she been traveling in this bloody gown?”
“Aye,” stated Desmond.
“Not my blood,” added Ailsa.
Fiona stepped near the bed. “Good to meet another warrior.”
Ailsa smiled weakly and closed her eyes.
“And you, dear brother…” Fiona came around the other side and took his arm, leading him out of the room. “They are filling a tub for you in your chamber.”
Desmond glanced over his shoulder at Aileen. “Ye will heal her, aye?” His question was one of concern and it pained him to leave her, though he could not fathom why.
“I never make promises, but I will do my best,” she replied, smiling.
He raked a hand through his hair and nodded.
Looking down at his sister, she arched a brow in question at him.
Pulling her along out of the room, they moved silently to another set of stairs and corridor. She paused before his door and placed a hand on his chest. He waited patiently for her to speak, but she shook her head.
“I had no wish to see the lass die,” he blurted out.
She batted her eyes. “Did I say anything?”
Before he could speak, she opened the door and shoved him inside. “Bathe, put on some fresh clothes, so the next time you see the lass, you’ll look presentable.”
Desmond fisted his hands on his hips. “Dinnae start to tell—”
The door to the chamber slammed shut, not giving him a chance to finish his retort.