Dragon Knight's Medallion (21 page)

Was he at Urquhart? Were his other brothers there as well?

Without hearing her, Aileen moved up beside him, shaking him out of his reflections. She was flushed from the day’s ride with her hair coming loose from the braid. He snapped his attention to a place in the distance.

“We shall spend the night at the base of that ridge.” He shifted slightly. “This is Fraser land. So I hope the current laird is still alive.”

Aileen’s eyes grew large. “Are you afraid someone will find us?”

“Nae. Frasers were our friends and allies, except it has been several years. We will have to do without any fire, for I cannot take the risk.”

Aileen nodded, following his lead as he led them higher up to the ridge. They had to dismount halfway up, then it leveled out. The trees virtually blocked the view from below.

After tending to the horses, Stephen placed several plaids on the ground, close to two trees. “Are ye hungry?” he asked stiffly.

She just stood there...frozen.

Stephen frowned. “Aileen?” He saw her wince.

“My legs. I don’t think I can sit down on the ground,” she replied.

Stephen tried hard to swallow the laughter, instead coughing into his fist. “Och, Aileen.” He reached for her hand, but she swatted it away.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me!” she snapped. “This is your fault! I’m still not used to riding long periods of time and at the speed you pushed us.”

“
My fault
?” he asked in mocked offense.

Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Get out of my way. I think I’ll take a walk to stretch them out.” She pushed past him as he started to choke on his own laughter.

“Men! Only you would make fun of my predicament,” she grumbled with each painful step.

Grabbing the salve Betha had given her, she proceeded to move past the horses until she was out of sight.

Stephen followed her a moment later. His lust surged forth when he found her applying the sweet-smelling ointment. He had only intended to offer her an apology. However, the sight of her dress hitched up to her upper thighs took all of his control not to snatch the pot and apply it to those milky legs. His mind drifted to where those legs were recently wrapped around him, urging him deeper within her.

His hands clenched; his cock swelled, and Aileen noticed.

“I am fine,” she said softly, dropping the folds of her dress, and turning her back on him.

“Good,” he clipped out, leaving as silently as he had approached.

“By the hounds,” Stephen gritted out, pounding his fist against the pine. And this was only the first day. Rubbing his face, he moved away from the trees.

Seeing her approach, he gathered some food. “I’ll return shortly. I want to make sure we cannot be seen.” He pointed to the plaids. “There is food and drink.”

Aileen gave him a passing glance, slowly and gently lowering herself to the ground. She let out a hiss, but placed her hand out to stay Stephen’s help.

“Rest, Aileen.”

She didn’t even look at him, waiting until he was out of sight to let out the long-held breath. Her heart was pounding. For one brief moment, she almost handed him the pot just to have his hands on her. Hands that were big and strong, knowing just where to send her spiraling.

“Goddess, why can’t I block him out?”

Sorcha cawed, and Aileen thought it sounded like laughter.

“Thanks.” Shaking her head, she guzzled deeply from the ale skin—grateful it was water.

“One day down, four more to go.”

Sorcha cawed again.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“For once you’ve kindled the fires of passion, you have two choices: step into the abyss of love, or rip out your heart, and toss it into the sea.”

Aileen was aching and grumpy. It was unlike her to wake feeling so sour, but just casting a glance at the cause made her insides churn even more. She couldn’t even see the first rays of dawn as she chewed on her oatcake. Stephen had awoken her with a slight nudge, and then proceeded to pack their few items.

She was downright cranky over the fitful night of restless sleep. When she would drift off, dreams of
him
would invade her mind. His lips on hers, caressing her body. At one point, she knew she actually moaned.

Sweet Bridget! What she wouldn’t give for a good cup of strong black coffee.

“Time to go, Aileen,” Stephen said, interrupting her thoughts.

“Coming,” she muttered low.

Taking deep calming breaths and stretching, she slowly let Stephen help her onto Buttertwill. She didn’t even bother to thank him. All she could think of was soon it would be light, then afternoon, and then evening, and another day would pass.

Slowly ticking them off until they were back at Grenlee.

Stephen kept them at a steady pace for most of the day. Yet, by early afternoon, Aileen’s body matched her mood.
Foul
. And if he glanced back at her one more time, she was going to scream.

The look on his face told her all she needed to know. He was impatient, irritated, and frustrated.

Could his mood match hers? “I doubt it,” she snorted.

“Hold, Grian.” Then turning him around, Stephen waited for Aileen to catch up.

“What ails ye?” he asked, his tone more curt.

Aileen took a moment to catch her breath. “Nothing. I’m
fine
.”

Stephen shifted closer. “Nae. Your face tells me ye are in discomfort.” He reached out for Buttertwill’s reins, but she smacked his hand away.

“I might be sore, but I can assure you I can continue,” she snapped.

“Humph! Stubborn fae,” he quipped.

“So now you’re back to calling me
fae
?”

Rubbing a hand over the growth of beard on his face, he took a deep breath in and out. “
Aileen
, I am merely trying to help. I do not want ye in pain. We will reach the lower valley of the Great Glen tomorrow. I have no wish to carry ye to the Great Dragon.”

Hot fury boiled forth from Aileen. “Don’t worry, Stephen MacKay, if I have to crawl to the Great Dragon, I will do so without your help. You will never have to touch me again, much less carry me.” Giving a nudge to her horse, she took off away from him.

“Cold-hearted man!” Tears stung her eyes and choked her voice. He already found her so distasteful, he couldn’t bear the thought of touching her. Sharp pain stabbed at her heart. Why did she care? Why, why,
why
?

The scenery blurred, until she heard the thunder of hoofs approaching from behind. Grasping tighter to Buttertwill, she urged the horse faster. Tufts of dirt and grass flew past as they raced onward. A pine limb smacked against her face, and she ignored its sting.

Aileen felt no fear. At one point, she heard Stephen yell her name. Exhilaration and pain fueled her desire to get further away. She was being carried away along with the winds. If only they could take her back home.

When the path became narrow, she started to hold back. Feeling refreshed, Aileen led Buttertwill on a small gallop. She spotted the river weaving its way ahead, calling out to her. This time she would take charge, instead of waiting for him to make the decisions.

“I think we deserve a break, don’t you Buttertwill?” Taking shelter in a small grove of pines, she quickly dismounted. She gave a grunt from the pain within her thighs.

Stretching them out, Aileen gasped when strong arms reeled her around.

“God’s blood, woman!” Stephen roared, as his lips came crushing down on hers.

His kiss was not gentle, but she welcomed the harsh invasion. His tongue swept within, seeking. He took and plundered, and she surrendered. She moved harder against him, taking her hands and wrapping them around his neck, bringing him deeper.

Their breaths mingled, and the kiss became more urgent, demanding, as if their world would dissolve into thin air.

Stephen growled low, gripping her bottom against his raging erection. And she responded by wrapping one leg around him.

Slowly, he pulled back from the kiss. However, he kept his hands around her, and she could feel them shaking. “Does that tell ye how much I
want
to touch your body?” he rasped out. “Each hour that passes makes it increasingly difficult to be around ye.”

Aileen couldn’t reply, for she felt dizzy and unfulfilled.

Stephen took his thumb and grazed it along her swollen bottom lip. “I crave your body
constantly
,” his voice thick with emotion. “Yet, ye are not of this time.”

Turning, he walked down to the river, his fists clenched by his sides.

Emotions swam before Aileen as she watched him walk away. He
did
want her as badly as she wanted him. However, he was a Knight—one who would see her safely back to the abbey, so she could return home.

Confusion waged a war within her. For she truly didn’t know where
home
was anymore.

****

Castle Leomhann—Home of the MacFhearguis Clan

“It reeks of horse muck!” snarled Michael MacFhearguis, reaching for the pitcher of ale. Pouring a hefty amount, he guzzled deeply. Wiping the back of his hand against his mouth, he let out a belch.

Alex glared at him. “Duncan is not our enemy. It is the bloody druid, Lachlan,” he hissed.

“I tell ye, he’s up to no good.” Michael lashed out. Pointing a finger at Alex, he added, “Has he come to our aid in search of Adam?”

All was quiet.

Michael gave a smirk. “It is foolish Lachlan would travel south. I can tell ye he favors the north, for there he will find many more followers. To even mention the druid’s name leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Black traitor,” he spat out going for the pitcher again.

Michael eyed his other brother over the rim of his cup. “What say ye, Patrick?”

What could he say, Patrick mused. That his brother was an ass? He had let his rage for the MacKays cloud his vision, and in doing so, Lachlan had taken control. Adam had been missing for over a year, and inwardly he sensed his brother, the laird, had wasted precious time listening to the druid.

Patrick pushed away from the wall to stand before Michael. It took every ounce of strength not to throw his cup at his brother. “I realize ye have no love for the MacKays, nor do I. In truth, there is no reason why Duncan would betray us. He wants Lachlan’s head as much as we do.” He kept his gaze steady with his brother. “I will take some men, and meet with Duncan at Hollow Ridge.”

Alex stepped forward. “I shall go with ye.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Nae, Alex. Patrick will go alone.” He turned to Patrick, adding, “Ye can take Sean and Arland.”

“Christ’s blood!” yelled Alex. “And what would ye have me do?”

Michael cocked his head to the side. “Why with Duncan away from Urquhart, we shall pay a visit,” he replied.

Patrick stiffened. Was his brother insane? To be caught on MacKay land could mean an all-out war.

Alex was stunned into silence.

“You cannot be serious, Michael?” Patrick asked incredulously.

Michael clapped the back of Patrick’s shoulder. “Oh, but I am. We will wait a few days until the MacKay is away from his land.”

Stepping aside, he bellowed for a guard.

Patrick and Alex just eyed one another in a silent understanding. Their brother was on dangerous ground, and one slip would mean a battle neither was willing to fight.

One of the guards entered, and Michael started issuing orders.

Stepping around Alex, Patrick grabbed the pitcher of ale with his back facing Michael. “It will be up to ye to restrain him,” his voice low, pouring the liquid slowly into his cup.

Alex gave a snort. “He’ll most likely slay me first.”

“Still, it will be up to ye to keep him away from Urquhart Castle.” Patrick swirled the contents of his mug before swallowing.

“Aye,” he hissed. “Have ye heard any word on the other MacKays?”

“Nae.”

At that moment, one of the serving lasses came into the hall. She moved passed Michael, but not before he gave her a wink.

“How long do ye think ye will be gone?” asked Alex as he kept his eyes on his brother.

Patrick shrugged, watching as Michael now flirted outright with the serving lass. “It all depends on how far south Duncan wants to travel. His courier gave no mention of what news of Lachlan, only that he had traveled south.” He glanced back over his shoulder at the outburst. Michael had now pulled her into an alcove, while his hand roamed over her breasts.

Alex just rolled his eyes.

“Guard him well, Alex,” said Patrick finishing the last of his ale. “I do not relish the idea of returning, and finding ye as laird of Leomhann.”

“Ye think we cannot hold our own against the MacKay, or the few men he has at Urquhart?” scoffed Alex.

Patrick crossed his arms over his chest. “Aye, I ken that ye probably can. My concern and
yours
...should be when and if his brothers return.” He grabbed a strong hold of his brother’s arm. “They have magic and the druids on their side, and I for one, do not want to be on the receiving end of their wrath.”

Alex’s shoulders slumped. “Ye are correct, Patrick. We cannot win against the MacKays.” He raked a hand across his face trying to ease some of the frustration. “Perchance I can persuade him to bring some women folk, for it seems to distract him.”

Patrick gave him a smirk as soft moans echoed from the alcove.

“Judas’s balls! Could he not wait to take the woman until we had left?” growled Alex.

“I have faith in ye, Alex. Do what you must, be it...” He waved to where Michael sat. “...providing him with women, or persuading him to
not
take up arms against the MacKays.”

“Ye should be the one riding with him, not me. Ye have more patience,” muttered Alex, frowning. He went to retrieve his sword, but not before he added, “I may have to knock him out, if he chooses not to listen to me.”

“Whatever it takes, brother. Just do not kill him.”

Alex cursed softly under his breath as they both left the hall. Neither had looked Michael’s way when they passed, realizing their brother was deep into pleasuring himself just by the grunts emanating forth.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“When the Knight skipped the stone across the water, the Lady appeared dressed in shimmering seashells.”