Oath of a Warrior Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for Mary Morgan

  Oath of a Warrior

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Other books by Mary Morgan

  Note:

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Epilogue

  Glossary of the Fae Realm

  Note from the Author

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc. and other major retailers

  “Erina, mo ghrá,” he groaned,

  taking her mouth with savage intensity. She tasted of honey and spices, filling him completely and easing the torment that continually plagued him.

  Breaking free, he placed his hands on either side of the door. Giving her all of him required something more from Erina. Without the assurance of accepting him for what he was, Rory would be a lost man.

  “Are ye certain ye want to ken all of me? I want ye as sure as the sun rises and sets over the land each day, but ken this, Erina—there is more to me than a simple bedding. There are things about me that might frighten ye. What I’m about to share with ye may cause ye to question my existence, or worse, my sanity.”

  Her laugh was seductive and soothing as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “From the moment ye stepped through those trees that first day, I realized ye were not like any man I had encountered. It was as if the trees parted and ye came forth from inside them.” She brushed her fingers along his brow. “For one, ye have the most mesmerizing eyes and they shift colors.”

  “And the second?”

  Her face turned a rosy glow, yet, she held his gaze. “I thought your body chiseled from the old Gods, especially with all the markings on your back and arms.”

  His gaze swept over hers. “I am nae God, Erina, though some would call me a demon.”

  Praise for Mary Morgan

  “Mary Morgan has quickly become one of my favorite authors. I adore her lyrical, vivid writing, the Celtic mythology, and the enchanting otherworldly element that she interweaves into her stories.”

  ~Linda Townsend

  ~*~

  “The author pulls you in, and you can feel the world evolving around you, and see it in your mind as you read along. A new-to-me author and it feels like I found a new favorite.”

  ~Uncaged Book Reviews

  ~*~

  “I loved this book and highly recommend it to anyone who loves not just fantasy and paranormal but a beautiful love story.”

  ~Linda Tonis for Paranormal Romance Guild

  ~*~

  “I truly love Ms. Morgan’s books, but this one is breathtaking. She describes the land, flowers and especially the Fae Realm to the degree that I can almost smell Ivy’s roses.”

  ~Pknv

  Oath of a Warrior

  by

  Mary Morgan

  Legends of the Fenian Warriors,

  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.

  Oath of a Warrior

  COPYRIGHT © 2018 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 Fantasy Rose Edition, 2018

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2119-6

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2120-2

  Legends of the Fenian Warriors, Book 2

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To all of you who

  adhere to a different path

  or beat your own drum.

  May you walk your own journey

  and not worry about what the norm dictates.

  You are each unique and beautiful.

  Other books by Mary Morgan

  Order of the Dragon Knights ~

  Dragon Knight's Sword, Book 1

  Dragon Knight's Medallion, Book 2

  Dragon Knight's Axe, Book 3

  Dragon Knight's Shield, Book 4

  Dragon Knight's Ring, Book 5

  ~*~

  Legends of the Fenian Warriors ~

  Quest of a Warrior, Book 1

  ~*~

  Holiday Romances ~

  A Magical Highland Solstice

  A Highland Moon Enchantment

  Note:

  Glossary of terms after page 383.

  Prologue

  In the beginning…when the world was new, Fae and humans lived peacefully together, but as the centuries passed, fear and distrust evolved. The Fae continued to love the humans, but they believed it was time to safeguard the realms. Therefore, they appointed the Fenian Warriors to protect the domain between human and faery. But most importantly, these warriors were to assist the humans.

  When evil threatened to destroy a clan, country, or civilization, the Fae council called upon these warriors. Their orders were to steer a new course and aid the mortals. This group of elite Fae had the power to travel through the Veil of Ages, supporting those in need. They were not to alter the timeline or what the Fae believed to be the life strings of a human. To do so would be catastrophic.

  Ancient and powerful, the Brotherhood of the Fenian Warriors was second only to the Fae King and Queen’s powers. They have lived amongst us for thousands of years—watching, aiding, guiding. They could live in the guise of a professor, lawyer, knight, tavern owner, or a simple farmer.

  Whatever was required, the warriors did so without complaint.

  Yet, even these great warriors had their weaknesses as with any race. Though they used their powers for good, there have been times when a select few deemed it wiser to interfere without the knowledge of the Fae council. They twisted the laws to suit their own purpose and changed the course of time.

  When three Fenian warriors left the Brotherhood to aid a clan—the Dragon Knights of Urquhart, they brought the fury of the Fae down upon their heads. Their punishment should have been swift, but the Fae always believed in redemption—even for one of their own.

  A trial was ordered for all three Fae—the first was Conn MacRoi
ch. His judgment had already been handed down. Now the second Fenian Warrior, Rory MacGregor, must face the Fae council and give his account.

  Tales of this warrior’s legendary acts swept through the Highlands with sagas of honor and nobility. Serving alongside Scottish chieftains, his guidance was deemed necessary before any battle. The human people rumored he was sent from the Gods and Goddesses to show them victory, and they were honored to have him sit at their feasting table.

  Many sought him out, offering him riches, land, and marriage pacts to their daughters. However, he gave his assistance without accepting any accolades.

  For all his laurels, Rory MacGregor conceals a dark secret—one he has kept hidden even from the Brotherhood. He carries the scar on his body as a constant reminder of his one failure. A badge of how he wronged another. But with any dark secret, time will eventually peel back the veil of reality.

  When the truth is finally exposed, Rory will be forced to return and witness the event. If he so chooses, the warrior must face and conquer his demons, or surrender to the bleak abyss of torment and death. The Brotherhood will accept no other course.

  Yet, another path of illumination beckons, and it will test this hardened warrior beyond his endurance.

  Chapter One

  “In the twilight moments before one wakes, be wary of the fragmented dreams of truth.”

  ~Chronicles of the Fae

  Beneath the Hill of Tara, Ireland, Mid Autumn—the season of harvest and feasting in the Fae Realm

  Smoke filled his lungs, strangling his pitiful cries for mercy. Dust coated his mouth, and his eyes burned, reminding him of the flames of dragon fire during raging battles. Repeatedly, they continued to pummel his face, while his hands and feet remained bound as he knelt on the ground. Some threw stones at his head and others spouted vile obscenities and spat on him. He choked back the copper taste of blood and attempted to reason with any one of his captors.

  Did they not understand who he was? Did they not know he could boil the blood within their bodies and peel the skin from their bones? He, a great Fenian Warrior could obliterate their entire city!

  But he would not. Death would come far more quickly if he harmed so much as a hair on their pathetic bodies. In truth, he was honored bound by an oath to these deplorable humans.

  “Bind…me to…the stake,” he pleaded in a choked voice. “Take me.” Fighting the wave of panic and the pain slashing his body, mind, and soul, Rory blinked in an attempt to focus and faced his tormentor.

  His captor grabbed a fistful of hair, forcing Rory to view the scene in front of him. “Your time will come, ye spawn of the devil. But ye will first watch how your witch shall die.”

  “Nae a witch,” he hissed.

  “Liar!” the man shrieked, spittle flying. “Did she not tell wee Alan the charms came from the faeries?”

  “A lad’s tale to amuse his friends,” he argued, during fits of coughing spasms.

  “Nae!” A woman protested, pushing through the crowds of people. She charged forward and delivered a slap to Rory’s face. “Ye are bewitched by the lass and spout lies about my son.”

  She wagged a finger. “Ye should burn with her. Ye have the painted markings of the devil on your body.”

  “Leave and go tend to your son,” ordered the man.

  Hastily making the sign of the cross, she quickly departed.

  “Please, have mercy,” begged Rory.

  “Mercy,” he echoed. “So that she may return and cast her evil ways upon us? Nae. She has been found guilty of her crimes.” Releasing his hold on Rory, the man nodded to another.

  Rory uttered a curse and looked at the woman bound to the burning stake. Eyes wide with fear gazed back at him as the flames took hold of her dress, licking a path up her body. Not once did she let out a scream of terror. Choking on the scent of burning flesh, he swallowed the bile threatening to heave and attempted to stand. He would not let her die like this. She had done nothing wrong.

  Yet, the effort cost Rory when his captor shoved a blade into his side. Pain dulled his senses, and he fought to move forward.

  He broke free from his bindings and heard the crowd gasp in horror. No longer caring if any witnessed his power, he lifted his arms, only to have another bash him over the head.

  Rory’s last glimpse of the woman he had forsaken were her screams of his name before he succumbed into the dark abyss, praying death would take them both swiftly.

  Awakening on a guttural cry, Rory turned and emptied what little he had in his stomach onto the ground. Gasping for breath, he waited for the spasms to settle within his body and rolled on his side. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he leaned against the cool crystal wall of his prison, and let his head drop back. Gazing upward, he watched as the stars glittered like diamonds against an inky velvet night sky.

  The dream had once again come unbidden to him during his time spent in the Room of Reflection. Never once had he dreamt of her until he entered his imprisonment. Nae. He had banished the memories—tucked them away to a remote part of his being. Hardened himself against any emotions. Struck her name from any thought and vowed never to reveal to his fellow Fenian brothers his involvement in her capture, imprisonment, and death.

  Only one visible sign of evidence remained. And only Rory understood its meaning. It was hidden among the layers of his tattoos from the Brotherhood—twisted and puckered along his right rib cage.

  His hand shook as he brushed his trembling fingers over the ancient scar, recalling how he refused the pleas of the Fae healer to bind the skin. It would always be a reminder of how he failed her.

  Rory dug his hands into the soft earth. “Why?” he uttered into the silence of his cage.

  He snarled at the stillness mocking him. There would be no answers. Despair and bitterness were his companions, but they refused to offer him any comfort.

  When he first entered his prison, days blended into weeks, and those turned into months. Then the first dream entered, sending him spiraling to the place within his mind he had locked away. It brought forth all the reasons why he often times despised the humans. Always narrow-minded and prejudiced in their thoughts and actions. They were quick to make judgments and feared any who were different.

  Once, Rory had sought out the elders of the Brotherhood, requesting to leave mortal Earth, so he could return and remain in the Fae realm. They denied his appeal, since he gave no cause as to why he deemed it necessary to relinquish his powers and rights as a Fenian Warrior.

  Now he could not fathom why the dreams had started, or why they continued in earnest to torture his soul.

  Lowering his head, Rory rubbed vigorously at his eyes. “Enough,” he muttered.

  Bells chimed the morning hour, and he glanced upward. His starry attendants were fading as the dawn’s dance started anew.

  Folding his arms over his bent knees, Rory waited for the first meal of the day to appear magically within his prison, along with several books. He almost laughed out loud at the selection presented. Some were volumes of folk heroes and knights in shining armor. Occasionally, there would be one pertaining to his homeland of Taralyn, and his humor vanished.

  Home. Green meadows, lush with foliage. Their colors made one’s head spin, and teemed with wildlife that dwelt in harmony. Instead of one, there were three moons. When they rose in a luminous arc during their fullness, the sight would steal the breath from a Fae’s body. And how could he forget the cool, scented waters of the lakes and streams that soothed the skin and calmed the mind.

  These images teased him within the pages of the tome, calling him forth. Was this to be his curse—his punishment for helping the Dragon Knights? Only reading on parchment about places he could no longer visit? He growled his resentment at those who could not comprehend what he, Liam, and Conn had done for their world and the human realm.

  A soft mist of colored lights flashed on the other side of the room, and a table appeared. Silver bowls held an array of fruit, vegetables,
cheeses, and an assortment of breads. At the end set a goblet, as well as a wooden jug with water. There were a few other silver bowls, but Rory cared naught for food or drink.

  It would not matter if the most delectable food in the realm appeared, it could not tempt him. His appetite had waned. In truth, he believed it was due to his imprisonment, since he no longer had the will to eat, drink, or even greet the new dawn.

  Life did not reach out to him, so he retreated within, preferring the cold hard floor of his cell. Even his Fae guards had backed away when they issued an order demanding he take in some nourishment, and he responded by bellowing a curse at them. Eventually, the guards gave up and never returned to his prison.

  As the first shaft of light entered the room, Rory pushed himself farther away from its radiance and retreated deeper into his anguish.

  ****

  Conn MacRoich paced within the outer gardens of the royal palace. His hands fisted as he waited with uncertainty. His meeting with the Fae council had ended with terse words on both sides. He had argued that Rory MacGregor not be forced to endure a trial. His time spent in the Room of Reflection was enough punishment. Furthermore, he heard the account of how the Fenian Warrior had slipped deeper into a dark abyss, and Conn judged it was wise to step in and offer a solution.

  The Fae council was not pleased. They found it difficult to argue with their prince, especially when he used his royal status to influence the other members. He reminded the council that Rory was under his command, and it was their duty to adhere to his convictions. In the end, they relented. Nevertheless, there were conditions.

  Conn let out a frustrated sigh, and rested against a rowan tree. Folding his arms across his chest, he mulled over the multiple decisions and actions. For one, he could remove Rory and secure him in a place of his choosing. Another, simply ignore the Fae council entirely.

  The air shimmered and Taran MacLean—friend and Fenian Warrior appeared.

  Conn pushed away from the tree. “Give me the account.”

  Taran shook his head. “Not good. The Fae guards no longer greet him daily. They bring his food inside the room magically.”