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  Chapter Two

  “Some say when a dragon is sleeping, she resembles the rolling hills of Scotland.”

  The moment Alastair’s feet touched the ground, he let out a long held breath. With every step, the power flowed up throughout his body. This was always the way when he returned to land. He let just enough energy in to soothe and replenish what he had lost at sea.

  Clenching his hands, he tried to fight the urge to draw forth more. It teased and danced along his skin, but he held firm. If he needed reminding, then all he had to do was conjure up the dreadful night of his sister’s death.

  Alastair would never allow the land to control him again. He did not blame the Gods. He did not blame the Goddesses. He did not blame his brothers. He did not blame his Fae blood.

  The blame fell to him. Alone. The sea was his punishment.

  Taking a deep breath and releasing it, he secured the walls within his body, blocking out any more energy from the land. He had his fill. Stepping around Steiner, he lifted one of the barrels off the wagon and onto his shoulder.

  “I believe we have earned this one,” he shouted at Gunnar.

  A loud roar of approval came forth from his men as he maneuvered his way past them and up the walkway. Feasting was at the forefront of his mind, especially after what they had endured coming through the storm. He strode purposely in one direction.

  To the house of the MacGuinnes.

  They would conduct their business during the feasting. It was always the way with this man—hungry for profit and news from across the sea. There were many that avoided the English, and Thomas MacGuinnes was no exception.

  “Greetings, Alastair,” said Noreen, giving him a broad smile. “Good to see you have returned. ’Tis many moons.” She planted her hands on either side of her hips and angled her head to the side.

  “I did not ken it was so long,” teased Alastair.

  Noreen snorted. “The length of which I would gladly see.”

  “Tsk, tsk. What would your father say to such language?”

  She stepped close to him, dropping her shawl a bit to show him a partial view of her breasts. “And what language are ye referring to?”

  By the Gods, it was always this way with her. Even when they first met, she did not flinch from his face, horribly scarred, as did so many others when they saw him. Instead, she flirted outrageously. However, he realized the moment he laid his hands on her Thomas would slap the marriage chains around him. In truth, he pondered why he did not take Noreen as his wife. With her flaming red hair and a body ripe with curves, he understood she would be a tempting tigress to tame.

  “Ye could teach me with your mouth to say the proper words,” she cooed, brushing a finger across his lips.

  His body betrayed him, and he shifted, praying she would not see his erection.

  Too late. Her smile became predatory. Pressing herself against him, she whispered into his ear, “I most definitely can take care of your length.”

  Beads of sweat broke out along his forehead. He remained speechless, the barrel digging into his shoulder.

  “Oh for the love of Mary, leave the man be,” shouted Siobhan.

  Noreen chuckled low and moved away from him. Giving her sister a pout, she ambled down the road humming a tune.

  “Honestly, Alastair,” said Siobhan, stepping toward him. “Why don’t ye just marry my sister and do us all a favor? I ken the way ye look at her.” She stood there gazing up at him waiting for his answer.

  Could he truly be happy here in this land? With that woman? Swallowing, he was sorely tempted to seek out Thomas and include a marriage deal in the bargain.

  He let out a long held breath. This was not the day. The past still reared its ugly head, and he could not stay permanently on the land—ever.

  Giving Siobhan a weak smile, he replied, “Not today.”

  She sighed. “Ye will find father in the stables tending to a foal.”

  Relieved he could be on his way, Alastair proceeded up the path. As soon as he spotted one of Thomas’s men, he called out, “Take this barrel to the great hall, and put it next to the MacGuinnes’s chair.”

  Wiping the sweat from his brow, he made his way toward the stables and Thomas’s shouts.

  Stepping inside, he stopped short. Thomas was crouched on the ground, drenched in blood. Behind one of his mares, stood a newborn, its twin unable to stand.

  “Sweet Danu! Bring me some more water,” demanded the MacGuinnes.

  He kept stroking the babe and speaking low. “Now lass, I ken ye have spirit. One would have to, seeing how that beast of your brother took up much of your space. Would ye let him live and ye perish? Methinks not.”

  A small lad rushed past Alastair, handing Thomas the pail of water.

  Taking a cloth, he dipped it in the water and wiped away the blood from the foal’s eyes and mouth. She snorted, causing him to chuckle. “Aye, there is my girl.”

  Instantly, the foal kicked out and stood. Shaking its head back and forth, it moved on unsteady legs to be near its mother.

  Alastair remained still. The energy swirled around him from not only the land, but from witnessing the miracle of birth.

  Gritting his teeth, he willed it back into the ground.

  “By the saints, MacKay! ’Tis good to see ye.” Thomas proceeded to dump the rest of the water over his head, before giving out orders for the boy to fetch Peter.

  “When Peter arrives, we can take our leave. Dinnae want to leave them alone.”

  “Rough birth?”

  Thomas wiped his face with the cloth and stood up. “Aye. In truth, I am amazed the wee lass survived.” He nodded toward her brother. “He was close to crushing her inside.”

  Alastair nodded. “Your love of horses knows no bounds. I believe ye willed her to live.”

  Thomas smacked him on the back. “And dinnae tell me ye would have not done the same.”

  He cocked a brow, realizing the man was correct. His love of animals, especially horses, was one he never hid.

  Peter came rushing toward them with the lad following closely behind. Giving them specific instructions, Thomas waved Alastair back toward the keep.

  “I am keen to see what ye have brought, MacKay.”

  He snorted. “Aye, and news on other trading burghs.”

  “Ye be a sly one, MacKay, to know me so well.”

  As they continued to talk, Thomas’s wife emerged.

  “Greetings, Alastair. ’Tis many moons.”

  “Greetings, Claire. One does forget the passing of days when at sea.”

  She waved him off. “Well, ye are here now. It will be a great feasting this evening.”

  He frowned. “My pardon, but a simple meal will be plenty for us.”

  Thomas coughed loudly, holding back a laugh. “We have guests.”

  Alastair shifted his stance and crossed his arms across his chest. “Aye, the O’Quinlan.”

  “He has another with him.”

  Claire squared her shoulders and glared at her husband. “Honestly, Thomas. At least they are not priests.” Smiling, she snapped her gaze back at Alastair. “’Tis only the O’Quinlan’s trusted counselor, Kevan.”

  Alastair’s gut clenched. Druids! Bloody hell!

  “Now, I have much to attend to. They are filling the tub as we speak, so I would suggest, husband, ye clean the muck from the stables off ye.” Giving him a smile, she turned and walked back inside.

  Thomas shook his head slowly. “Sorry, MacKay. I would not blame ye if ye took your meal elsewhere.”

  Alastair shrugged. “Druids, priests…it does not matter. They are both vile. But what of the O’Quinlan?”

  “He is much like yourself.”

  Alastair raised a brow in question.

  “Prefers the shadows. He passes through once every year after midsummer to trade for my special brand of mead. Niall has no fondness for the English. If it were any other, I would safely send ye away, but I trust the man.”

  Alastair
sneered. “I trust no one.”

  “Nae, I do not believe the Dubh Dragon would.” Shaking his head slowly, Thomas walked past him.

  ****

  After changing into a clean tunic, Alastair sought out Gunnar and informed him of their eating companions. He was a guest of the MacGuinnes and did not want any trouble with the men when they saw the druid.

  He passed a serving girl with a tray of sweets, the aroma tantalizing his senses. He had only taken a few more steps when Noreen came around a corner and grabbed a hold of his arm.

  “I do hope ye plan on sitting beside me at the table, Alastair.” She squeezed his arm slightly.

  He tried to avoid looking at her. “’Tis best I sit with your father.”

  “Then I shall have to sit on the other side.”

  Gritting his teeth, he realized they were about to enter the hall…together. Warning bells rang in his head.

  Alastair halted. “I have business to conduct, Noreen. Ye might find it boring.”

  She turned slightly, rubbing her breast along his arm. Tilting her head up at him, she smiled slowly. “Tsk, tsk, Alastair. I think ye are afraid of what I might offer ye at the meal.”

  He bent his head low to her face. “Trust me, I fear naught.”

  Her eyes went wide, and he moved around her, walking into the hall.

  Striding toward Thomas, he took a seat to the left of his host. Reaching for a mug, he poured a hefty amount of mead. After downing the entire contents, he poured another, but placed it down on the table.

  “Alastair MacKay, this is Niall O’Quinlan, and the druid, Kevan.” Thomas introduced his guests.

  He gave a curt nod. “O’Quinlan.” His eyes shifted briefly toward the druid before someone passed him a trencher filled with grilled salmon, and he took a helping.

  “Alastair MacKay of Urquhart?” asked Kevan.

  “Aye,” interjected Thomas between bites of meat.

  Alastair continued to shove food onto his plate, ignoring the druid. It was no secret where he was from. As always, druids were a curious sort.

  “Ye are the Dragon Knight,” Kevan uttered quietly, glancing at Niall.

  Clutching his knife, Alastair gradually raised his eyes to look directly at the druid. “Nae longer.”

  The man’s brow furrowed and before he could say another word, Alastair added, “I think it would be wise, druid, if ye do not mention that name again.” Giving him a lethal look, he speared his salmon and popped a piece into his mouth.

  Niall finally spoke. “Then it is true. The Dragon Knights are dead.”

  A slight tremor went down Alastair’s spine. From what, he could not say, but the O’Quinlan’s words unsettled him. Taking his mug, he drank deeply. Setting it back down, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He did not like the way the O’Quinlan looked at him, as if in pity. And he didn’t need anyone’s sympathy.

  Refilling his mug, he lifted it up in a toast. “Dead and buried.”

  “Enough of this talk,” barked Thomas. Spearing a quail off one of the trenchers, he pointed to Niall. “Tell us of your journey. What news of the south?”

  Niall went into great detail recounting all that had happened. For the next few hours, Alastair listened intently, nodding every now and then. He had no reason to engage in a conversation with the man. His business was with Thomas.

  Finally, Kevan stood. Bowing slightly toward his host, he said, “I will bid ye a good-night.”

  Good, thought Alastair. He had felt the eyes of the man on him most of the evening. Squelching the bitterness down, he reached for his mug.

  “Safe journey, Alastair MacKay. All is not lost, nor dead.” Turning, Kevan walked quietly away.

  The mead left a foul taste in his mouth after hearing the druid’s words. They all pretended to look into your soul with their riddles. This one was no better. The whole lot could burn for all he cared.

  Niall rose slowly. “I shall take my leave. We will depart early on the morn.”

  “Come see me before ye leave,” said Thomas.

  Niall gave a curt nod. “MacKay.”

  “O’Quinlan,” he growled.

  Rubbing the back of his neck, his host shook his head. “Your manners need improving, MacKay.”

  Alastair speared another piece of food. “My manners?”

  “Niall is a good man. I ken how ye are with others, but this one is on our side.”

  He kept silent. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the O’Quinlan. Nae, the man traveled with the druid, and that made him uneasy.

  As if reading his thoughts, Thomas spoke. “Or is it the druid?”

  “What do ye think?” Alastair glared at him.

  Some of the other men had moved away, but Thomas leaned in close, his voice low. “Are ye concerned he will spread the news that ye are a Dragon Knight?”

  His fist clenched at Thomas’s words. “As I stated, the Dragon Knights are dead. The druid can spout whatever he wishes.”

  “Hmmm…” Thomas sat back in his chair.

  “What ye see before ye is the Dubh—Black Dragon. The Dragon Knight cut out from me many moons ago.”

  Seeing the look of doubt cross the man’s face with a raised brow, Alastair reached for his mug. “It is dead, buried, and long forgotten. We are nae longer.” Drinking the rest of the mead, he slammed the cup down on the table. “Now, MacGuinnes, would ye care to talk about our business?”

  Smiling slowly, Thomas lifted his mug in a toast. “Aye, and to more business.”

  “Most certainly, MacGuinnes.”

  In truth, he could not forget the past any more than the blood that flowed through his body. Each day was a reminder and the longer he stayed on land, the more it seeped into his being. Nae, he would no longer claim his full powers. He relinquished all the night his sister died. There would be no peace for the Black Dragon.

  He could only stay another day or two on land, before the chains of the sea would call to him.

  Chapter Three

  “The Ancients believed one could travel through time within their dreams.”

  Dublin, Ireland—Present Day

  Screams filled the night as chaos swarmed everywhere. Smoke from the fires burned her eyes and throat. She watched in horror as those she knew were slain in front of her. Their blood pooled around her feet keeping her locked in a prison of fear.

  A woman tried to run past, but was lifted off her feet and carried away, her voice strangled with the others.

  There was nowhere to run.

  No place to hide.

  Maybe if she closed her eyes, they would not see her. Try as she might, they remained open, fixed on the monster stalking toward her with his sword covered in blood. His eyes reminded her of a demon. Her body trembled.

  She did not want to die.

  Another man lunged at the monster, taking a swing at his arm. The monster struck back and thrust his sword into the man’s chest. Removing his sword, he then proceeded to slice through the man’s neck, severing his head from his body.

  She watched in horror as the head fell to the ground, rolling toward her and bumping into her legs. His eyes were open, and his mouth twisted in a grotesque angle.

  The monster roared with laughter as a scream tore through her throat.

  Fiona awoke still screaming.

  Gasping for breath, she stumbled into the bathroom and promptly threw up into the toilet. Sinking to the floor, she hugged her arms around her knees, and felt the hot steam of tears stream down her face. When the last of the tremors subsided, she gradually stood and turned on all the lights in her apartment. With shaking hands, she took down a bottle of Jameson whiskey and poured a hefty amount into a glass. Downing it quickly, she let the warmth of the liquid calm her nerves. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she held the glass against her chest.

  It had been years since she’d had one of those nightmares. She thought them long gone. Now, the same one had returned with vengeance.

  Pouring another drink, she
downed it just as quickly.

  “Why?” she choked out.

  Someone shouted below her window, and she jumped in fear. God, how she hated living so close to the street. Glancing at the clock, she cringed. “It’s five in the morning, and I’m already drinking.”

  Sinking down into the chair, she curled her feet beneath her. She would never be able to go back to sleep. When the nightmares haunted her constantly as a child, her Nana would come and sit with her, telling her they were only bad dreams and held no power over her. She would light a candle and tell Fiona the light of love would keep the monster away. And it did, if only for a few days. Over the years, the nightmares slowly diminished. By the time she turned twelve, they had ceased.

  “Oh, Nana, they’ve come back.”

  As if sensing her Nana, Fiona got up and lit a candle. Gazing into the flame, she said a silent prayer the nightmare would never return.

  To vanquish any lingering fragments, she went over to the corner where her Nana’s harp stood. She traced her fingers over the Celtic patterns carved into the red cedar, swallowing the pain. Though her Nana was no longer here to play for her, she knew the songs by heart.

  She couldn’t remember the last time her fingers glided over the strings. Weeks? Months?

  Fiona could almost hear her voice. Sit down, child. You’ve been away too long.

  Slowly sitting down in the chair, she tilted the harp back toward her body, letting her fingers move effortlessly through the strings. Soon, the melody took over her body, soothing away the tension and fear.

  ****

  Breathing deeply, Fiona walked into the long room of the library at Trinity College and came to a halt. The musty smells of so many books overtook her senses. Peace weaved its way through her body as she stood in the massive space.

  Blissful silence.

  Until people would descend, crowding all around. She could already see them trying to push their way in to get just the right photo, or trying to touch one of the books. Disgusting, annoying, and positively irritating.

  These books were her friends.

  The people were not.

  She once told her boss that perhaps they should close off this section of the library from all visitors and only let those who worked at the college into the place.