Dragon Knight's Axe

By Mary Morgan

Alastair MacKay, a battled-scarred Dragon Knight flees to the sea to separate himself from his fae-given power connecting him to the land. But it is on land that he rescues a woman from a slave trader in Ireland. It is through Fiona he steps back inadvertently into a world filled with magic—taking on the role of protector and at the same time leading him on a journey to confront his greatest regret and fears. Research assistant, Fiona O’Quinlan loves translating ancient artifacts at Trinity College. When she falls asleep on an archeological dig, she awakens in another time. She soon discovers a Dragon Knight’s relic has been entrusted into her care. Determined to return the artifact to the Great Glen, Fiona is unprepared for the danger ahead—losing her heart and soul to Alastair “Beast” MacKay. Will their love be strong enough to soothe the beast and heal the man? Or will Death swing its axe, leaving them lost for all eternity?

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Jun 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781509202010

Mary Morgan

Award-winning Celtic paranormal and fantasy romance author, Mary Morgan, resides in Northern California, with her own knight in shining armor. However, during her travels to Scotland, England, and Ireland, she left a part of her soul in one of these countries and vows to return. Mary's passion for books started at an early age along with an overactive imagination. Inspired by her love for history and ancient Celtic and Norse mythology, her tales are filled with powerful warriors, brave women, magic, and romance. Now, the worlds she created in her mind are coming to life within her stories. If you enjoy history, tortured heroes, and a wee bit of fantasy, then time-travel within the pages of her books. Visit Mary's website where you'll find links to all of her books, blog, and pictures of her travels. http://www.marymorganauthor.com

Book preview

ruler.

Prologue

They were an ancient order, descended from the great Tuatha De Danann, the Sidhe, or in simpler terms, the Fae. Half-human and half-Fae, each was blessed with mystical powers. They also were given Holy Relics from the Tuatha De Danann and guardianship over their dragons.

They were known as Dragon Knights.

With the dawn of Christianity, the dragons were systematically hunted down and slain, leaving only one. She was taken from Ireland to a land across the sea, settling in the Great Glen near Urquhart with the MacKay Clan, descendents from the MacAoidh.

Yet, there were those who believed the Order had too much power, and they tried to possess it for themselves. They were evil and twisted, and their plan succeeded one fateful night.

The brothers of the Clan MacKay—Dragon Knights, fought a battle. Blood spilled onto holy ground, bringing forth the wrath of the Fae. Their relics were taken and the Order banished. Each of their names were stricken from the hallowed halls of the Fae.

However, not all was lost, for the Fae loved these men.

Therefore, a quest for redemption was given to each. Duncan and Stephen MacKay fulfilled their journey. Now it is time for another brother to step forward.

Alastair MacKay’s powers come from the land. Yet, he will take to the ocean in self-punishment, mocking the God of the Sea.

Cursed and battle scarred, he is feared by many. They say he is two men. One part angel—one part monster. One would only have to look at his face to distinguish between the two.

Nevertheless, his day of reckoning grows near.

Alastair MacKay will have to battle the demon he created, for the love of a woman who is brave enough to love them both.

In the end, one must die.

Chapter One

July 1206—Off the coast of Dublin, Ireland

The wind whipped and snapped furiously, daring Alastair to take another step. Blinding rain slashed at his face as he slipped and crashed to his knees. Gripping the side of the ship with one hand and the other grasping the stern, Alastair let out a roar as he struggled to stand. His gut twisted in agony, and the bile in his stomach threatened to heave itself up onto the deck. Swallowing the bitter taste, he tried to move forward cautiously, anticipating the next lashing from the sea.

A flash of lightning seared past him grazing his shoulder, and this time he emptied his stomach over the stern. The taste of salt and mead lingered as he wiped away the spittle, and he slid down against the side of the ship letting the sea strike without mercy at his tormented body.

God, how he hated the ocean!

Holding his head in his hands, he cursed inwardly at being out on this wretched water. His body was not made for the sea, since it left him sick and weak. Nae, it craved the land, beckoning him to claim what was rightfully his. All he had to do was call forth his powers of the land and it would show itself. Lifting his head, his hand shook as he slowly reached out, but instantly he closed his fingers and pounded his fist against the wood. Tremors shook his body as he fought to control the surge of energy. Thunder roared overhead, taunting him to try again, and still he would not relent.

Is this the day I die? Is this not why I surrendered myself to the God of the Sea? The land is my power, and yet, I am here because I failed Meggie. ’Tis my fault she died. Mine! he howled, burying his head back in his hands.

If this is my destiny to die on the sea…so be it. Pain clawed at his shoulder, and he knew he was fighting a losing battle with the Sea God.

Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes, ready to surrender. Yet, whispers of another voice floated through his thoughts. Meggie’s laughter when he first carpeted the ground with fresh heather using magic. The time he told her horse to take her to the stones where the faeries danced, and she marveled at the sight. Then there was the time she scolded him when he climbed out and down the side of his chamber window, scaring the entire family as they all witnessed his bold act. Ye may think ye are brave, Alastair, but what ye did lacks brains. Ye must strive for something better. Ye are a Dragon Knight.

When he opened his eyes, he could not tell if it was seawater or tears streaming down his face. Are ye telling me it’s not my time, wee Meggie? He shook his head on a choked sob. How many times had he stalked the bleak abyss of death, only to hear her voice pull him back? Would his time be of her choosing?

Something flashed to his right, and all thoughts of defeat fled his mind as he wiped the snot and water from his face.

The canvas fluttered madly, its contents underneath threatening to spill forth. If they lost this cargo, heads would surely roll. Not only were they transporting woolens and furs, but barrels of wine and rum.

Gritting his teeth, Alastair sought out Gunnar who stood clutching the mast pole. His gaze focused out toward the sea. Yelling out his name would do no good, for the winds howled mightily around them. His friend probably thought this storm had the power of Thor’s hammer, so fierce in its strength.

The others also held tight, their vision turned outward, too. Did any of them notice they were about to lose their cargo?

Bloody Northmen, praying to their damn Gods, he hissed. Standing, a blast of sea spray hit him in the face and he let out a curse.

The canvas split wider, yet no one detected it, save him. With each step he took, the elements punished him with their relentless battering. Taking another step, the ship veered left and Alastair lost his footing, smacking into the back of Alrek. The ship lurched violently to the right and both were tossed against the side.

Yanking Alrek’s tunic, he yelled, Quit praying to your Gods, and help me tie down the canvas!

The man’s eyes were wide with fear, but he nodded in understanding. Another wave crashed over them causing Alastair to strike his head against the pole.

Damn! For the love of Manannan Mac Lir, cease this! He wiped away the blood seeping down into his eyes. Lightning flashed overhead, and he sneered. The God of the sea mocked his command.

Taking a hold of the rope, he pulled it around, noticing Gunnar had snapped out of his trance and managed to help secure the canvas. The ship pitched forward, but all the men held firm. Using the brief moment to bring the rope over and around the canvas, Gunnar took the other end and secured it as well.

Another wave spilled over them, and Alastair sputtered out the salty water, swallowing again the contents of his stomach. They may fear the storm, but he, Alastair MacKay, once a powerful Dragon Knight, no longer feared anything.

Do your worst, Sea God, he growled. Today is not the day I die.

The ship pitched high and then crashed down into the sea. Alastair heaved his body against the side of the cargo, holding tight to the rope and keeping his sight out for any sign of the coast. If they did not make land soon, the sea would rip them to shreds.

With a violent shudder, he let the force of his powers flow through his hands. Bring us to ye, Great Mother, he muttered.

Lightning sliced through the sky descending far too close to the ship and with one last high pitch, she swayed to the right, each man gripping on with all of their might. For a few moments, the ship teetered on going over, but at the last second, it crashed back down.

Land! yelled Steiner. Half standing at the bow, he pointed to the west.

Cheers from the men erupted throughout the ship, and they shoved their fists into the air as a sign of victory over the storm. Another wave crashed over them, yet its intensity was not as severe.

I give thanks, Goddess, whispered Alastair, wiping blood out of his eyes.

Instantly, the torrential rain subsided to a light shower, and the wind settled to a breeze. He unclenched his jaw and kept his gaze on the land as the men proceeded to take up their oars.

Gunnar finished tying up the cargo and warily stepped over to Alastair. Holy Odin, he gasped, grasping Alastair’s shoulder. Your eyes, man.

He shook out of Gunnar’s grasp, daring him to hold his gaze. Ye ken what I am. Say no more. His tone more gruff than he intended as he started past him. Aye, Alastair knew they feared the Dragon Knight.

In truth, this was the first time his friend had witnessed his power. They had all heard the story of the mighty Dragon Knight, though none questioned him when he came on board, becoming their leader many moons ago. He was a man touched by the Gods, and they considered it fate that brought him to them. So Gunnar had told him.

Alastair now stood at the bow of the ship, his back toward the men. He did not need others gawking at him. Leaning his hip against the wood, he grasped the edge, peering out toward the land. It would take some moments for his eyes to return to their normal shade of green. A small side effect of using his powers.

The land called out to him. It hardly mattered that ships were hugging the coast and harbor; he only saw the hills beyond. How long had he been away this time? Weeks? Months? When he was at sea, he lost count. Confusion always swamped his senses, and when the darkness of the waters engulfed him, Alastair took solace in his wood carvings. It was his only link to the land—land that was in his blood.

Fae blood.

A seagull cawed in the distance, and he snapped out of his trance. Swooping down across the stern, its massive wings outstretched as if welcoming them home. His brother, Stephen, would understand the symbolism, but he narrowed his eyes at the bird. Welcome or not, it was a bird of the sea.

Alastair realized what he sought was edging closer by the moment. Green rolling hills and the scent of the land beneath his feet. To be able to sit against a tree, with no thought but that of the land and animals.

Meggie’s spirit called out to him. Play, rest, restore. Fight the Sea God another day.

A break in the clouds opened, and slivers of light sprinkled over the coast. There was only a whisper of wind, and the rain no more. Alastair smiled. Yes, it was good to be back near land.

Turning around, he pointed to a place north of the main harbor. He did not want to dock at Dublin where there would be too many English or Normans. Take us beyond the main port to Cuthbridge and go no further inland.

With a nod, the men adjusted their oars to accommodate the waves and the new path. A low hum followed by chanting filled the vessel. It was their way of giving thanks to the Gods for their safe journey back home.

Alastair nodded silently at Gunnar, understanding he was grateful, too. He shifted back around to gaze at the far off coastline. If luck were on their side, there would be only Northmen at Cuthbridge. No one else cared about the small port. The wind pulled stronger there, and many feared being tossed against the rocks.

He gave a slight smirk. Danger flowed in his blood, and his men were skilled. With the winds light, they could easily slip past.

Soon, they were maneuvering the ship closer to their destination, easily sneaking past the giant beasts threatening to split them apart. Birds huddled within the crevices of the other vessels, oblivious to their passing.

Gunnar moved up to stand behind him. All quiet in the back.

Good, stated Alastair. They certainly did not want to attract any attention.

One single ship at the harbor.

Do ye ken who it belongs to? Alastair kept his sight ahead of the harbor looking for anything out of the ordinary. The English were known to lie low until goods were transported off the ship. Then they would come forth to take what they deemed as taxes for the king.

Gunnar let out a grunt. It is the O’Quinlan’s.

Niall? What might he be doing this far north?

For the same reasons we are, I reckon.

Alastair frowned. We trade to avoid the English and Normans. Niall has no quarrels with them.

Gunnar raised an eyebrow. "We all have quarrels with them."

Aye, he muttered. Well, I hope the O’Quinlan will not mind another when we come ashore with our goods.

If he does, I will remind him who you are.

And who would that be?

Gunnar laughed and smacked Alastair on the back. "Why that would be the feared Dubh Dragon."

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