Dragon Knight's Medallion (7 page)

Her voice was low when next she spoke. “Ye will ken the time, Sir Stephen. Do not forsake us.”

Turning, he saw the look of concern in her eyes. He had put himself as protector of Ian. Now, he was making another decision that did not bode well with him.

Walking over to her, he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I give ye my word I will protect not only Ian, but the other druids as well.”

“Swear by the oath of a Dragon Knight,” she commanded.

His blood boiled with anger, and he was certain his eyes changed color, but Betha did not flinch.

“My word as a Dragon Knight, on my honor,” he reluctantly ground out.

Betha smiled. “Then it is done.”

Instantly, Ian came bounding into the cottage, Donal following closely behind him. Ian’s father nodded in greeting.

“Sir Stephen, are ye joining us?” asked Ian.

“He has already eaten, Ian. Go and wash.” Betha shooed him away.

Stephen paused at the door, one more question still burning to be asked, “Do ye ken where Cathal is?”

She hesitated briefly. “Aye. He is journeying to Burrow Cove to meet the druid elders. If the snows have melted he should reach it by Beltaine.”

“Snows? Where is he traveling from?”

“Why from Glen Urquhart,” Betha declared.

Stephen felt the blood leave his face. Could Cathal have knowledge of his brothers?

Giving her a curt nod, he strode from the cottage with more questions than when he entered.

Chapter Eight

“The smell of evil is comparable to the corpse flower, which has a stench of rotting meat.”

“How dare you question me!” bellowed Bishop Augustus. “We are here from Rome on Holy orders to view the design of the abbey and to witness the work you have done among the people. You have failed to inform the Holy Father that pagan heretics still reside in the village. As of this date, you have not converted them.”

Osgar winced. Though the words were not directed at him, he felt the stirrings of something sinister.

“If I may present,” replied Brother Patrick, as he waited for permission to speak.

His face a mask of crimson, Bishop Augustus gave him a curt nod.

“Many have converted, and those which have not are few. I do believe they have fled north.”

Bishop Augustus gave a sardonic smile, as he tilted his head to the side to glare at Patrick. “That is
not
what my messengers have told me.”

Spies, Osgar thought. Rome had sent spies, or perhaps they were already among them in the abbey.

“Then what have your messengers told you?” asked Brother Colin. He had stood within the shadows, but now stepped forward.

The bishop slowly turned his focus to Colin. “Not only is the village beset with pagan worshipers, but one is kin to a druid.”

Osgar willed his face to remain impassive, yet his hands clenched within the folds of his robe. He himself had been a druid, along with Colin and Cesan. Only the three of them knew about Betha. He would trust these brothers with his life, knowing they would each give of themselves to keep her and Ian safe.

“I can assure—”

“Enough!” Bishop Augustus silenced Colin with a flick of his wrist. “It is time Rome dealt with these sinful heathens.”

Osgar and Cesan glanced at one another in an unspoken thought. If the bishop knew about Betha, could they also have knowledge of Sir Stephen? What of Ian?

Bishop Augustus stood. “This meeting has ended. I wish to discuss a more private matter with Brothers Timmons and Charles. The rest of you may leave.” He made the sign of the cross as the others got up and left the hall.

Colin marched over to Osgar and Cesan ready to burst, when Osgar held up his hand in warning. “Not here. Meet me at my work room in one hour.” Colin nodded and stormed off.

When they were outside away from prying eyes and ears, Osgar turned to Cesan. “Find Sir Stephen, and have him meet me in the healing garden after prayers have started.”

“Aye,” muttered Cesan, then strode away through the cloisters.

Osgar dipped his head to a passing brother. He let the sound of the ocean soothe his taut nerves, as he gathered his thoughts. Stepping out of the cloisters and walking through an archway, he watched as the waves rolled back and forth, the white foam glistening on the shore.

Bishop Augustus had stunned them with his announcement. His awareness of the druids, particularly Betha, was unexpected. And it troubled him. How much more had he or Rome discerned?

They needed to warn the others. Osgar did something he had not done in many moons. He said a silent prayer across the breeze to the Mother Danu, asking her to protect and watch over her children.

****

The dark hooded figure stayed hidden within the recess of the walls, watching. He recognized these three were once mighty druids. His lips twisted in disgust to think they would betray their own kind to join an order of sniveling men.

“Weak men who should burn,” Lachlan hissed quietly.

Oh yes, he thought, he would gladly see their bodies burn, and who better to do it than the believers of the one God. He would bide his time, until the moment of revelation. First, he would make sure one man’s identity would be exposed. He had failed with his brother, Duncan, but he would not fail this time.

“I will see you burn at the stake, Stephen MacKay, and I will be the first to take up the torch and set your body ablaze.” His hands dug into his arms through the folds of his robe, and he drew forth blood, reveling in the pain. “But first, you will lead me to your stone.”

Stepping away from the stall, he walked quickly away.

****

Stephen wandered through the back nave of the abbey on his way to the south end where Osgar maintained a huge section of the garden. The heady scent of lavender prickled his nose, and he followed it until he was in the medicinal part of the gardens. His warrior instincts kicked in the moment he saw Osgar with a weapon in his hand—a druid sickle.

He cocked an eyebrow.

“It is not what you think, Stephen,” scoffed Osgar.

Stephen folded his arms across his chest. “Then tell me why a brother is using a druid’s sickle in the garden...in the gloaming?”

“I find it shears plants more cleanly. Besides, we have more pressing problems than to worry about my sickle.” He gathered the comfrey and cowslip, placing it in the basket on the ground. “Come, let us withdraw to the back of the garden.”

Stephen followed him past the healing and vegetable garden. They went through a hedge and into a clearing, that looked out toward the sea. It was breathtaking to watch as the sun slipped beyond the horizon. The light splintered across the water like colorful fingers reaching out before receding into the darkness. He turned to see Osgar sitting on a stone bench against an old oak. The man looked worried.

“What troubles ye, Osgar?” Stephen asked, settling down next to him.

“The bishops from Rome ken Betha is kin to Cathal.”

“How can this be?”

“It seems they have spies, or as Brother Augustus stated,
messengers
.”

“Judas’s balls!” Stephen snapped. “Do ye ken these spies?”

The monk’s shoulders slumped. “Nae. I fear it could be any of the brothers, except for two.”

Stephen fisted his hands on his thighs, knowing whom he meant by the other two. “Who are the other druids?”

“Brothers Colin and Cesan.” He angled his head at Stephen. “Does this distress ye?”

He uttered something unintelligible under his breath and got up from the bench. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He had tried hard to forget the past. To bury who he was and the old religion. With the dawning of spring, the door opened back up, beckoning him to reenter.

The wind whipped his cloak around him as he considered what next to say. He watched the waves dip, and without thought, he pushed them back with his power.

“Careful, lest ye return back home,” replied Osgar.

Stephen could not help himself and let out a bark of laughter. “Did I ever leave?” he asked over his shoulder.

Osgar smiled. “Only ye can answer that one, my friend.”

Nodding his head in agreement, he strode back to Osgar. “So, the bishop has spies, but we do, too. There are only the four of us who can be found steadfast. I say we watch and listen. When the time is right, I will take Ian and Betha to the hills, or farther if need be.”

“Ye would guide them from this place? These druids?” he asked frowning.

Stephen rubbed the back of his neck as he rose to lean against the tree. He felt its strength infuse him with warmth. It had been so long. He crossed his arms over his chest and gazed down at Osgar. “Aye, I would and any who would need my protection. I may be at war with the old and new, but I will not have to stand by and watch as others slay innocents.”

His friend nodded slowly. “Can ye not tell me your latest vision?”

“Ye realize my visions are just a small sight of possible conclusions.” He bent and picked up a small stone tossing it out far over the cliff and watching it crash below against the rocks.

“Aye, but yours are
different
.”

“I ken who I am. Ye do not have to tell me!” Fury rode his frame as he stormed away from Osgar.

Placing his hands on his hips, he glanced back at Osgar. “I was standing on a hill and at my feet were some of my brothers, slain. And in my hand, I held a bloody sword.” He cocked his head to the side, “Feel free to clarify its significance.”

Osgar stood, walking over to Stephen. He tapped a finger against his mouth in thought. “Who were they?”

“I did not see their faces, only their robes,” he whispered.

“Ahhh, then ye ken what ye must do?”

“Aye, druid!” snapped Stephen, frustrated with his unwanted duty. “I must open myself to the visions and let them become a part of me,
again
.”

“Ye cannot fight who ye are.” Anger infused Osgar’s words. He threw his hands out toward the sea. “Your journey led ye here, and now ye must make peace with it. Take up the mantle of who ye are!”

“How can ye honor both?” Stephen hissed.

“Why not?” replied Osgar.

Before Stephen could utter a retort, Colin came running toward them with a look that sent a wave of uneasiness through him.

“We have trouble,” gasped Colin.

He lurched forward grasping the man’s arm. “Ian?”

“Nae, Betha. The bishop’s guards took her.” Colin wiped a hand over his face. “Donal sought me out. They held a sword at Ian to get her to come with them.”

“Bloody hell!” Stephen roared, releasing his grip on Colin. “Where are Donal and Ian?”

“Cesan has taken them to the hills. Betha had already started to pack their belongings when the guards stormed into their home.”

He grimaced. “Why would Betha be packing? She told me they were not leaving.”

Colin shrugged.

“She had a vision,” Osgar interrupted. “It would be the only reason she would flee.” He turned toward Stephen, a look of worry creased his forehead.

His jaw clenched, and he realized what he had to do. The ocean roared behind him, giving him strength—infusing him with a power he had not felt in over a year. “I will free Betha and bring her to safety. Are there any others in the village that would be in danger?”

Osgar let out a deep sigh. “Aye. There are a few families who still honor the old ways.”

Stephen pointed a finger at Colin. “Go to these families. Tell them to be ready an hour before dawn’s first light.” He glanced back at Osgar. “Do ye ken where they might take her for questioning?”

Osgar blanched. “The abbey is a holy place. There is nowhere...” He paused in thought before his eyes lit up. “Aye, there might be.”

“I shall return when the families are safe,” said Colin.

Stephen shook his head. “Nae. Until the threat is removed, no one is safe. I fear whoever this spy is will have ye already on their list, and that includes ye, Osgar. Ye should go to the hills.”

“This is…my ho…home, Stephen,” stammered Osgar.

Placing a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder, Stephen tried to comfort him. “And it shall be once again. But heed me on this,
druid
.” Stephen said the last with reverence.

“Aye,” whispered Osgar. He bowed his head to Colin. “Go with God, and our Lady.”

“And the same with ye, Osgar.”

They watched as Colin descended away from the abbey and down the hill to the village.

“I would feel honored if ye would bless me before I take my leave, Osgar.”

Osgar gave a weak smile, “It is I who would be honored,
Dragon Knight
.”

Stephen knelt in front of the man, feeling the last ray of light fall over his shoulders.

The druid placed his hands on Stephen’s shoulders and cast his eyes up toward the sky in an invocation.

“Bless this Knight, our Lord, and light his path. Give him the strength of your sword arm, St. Michael. Let the hounds of Cuchulainn be his guards. In the blessing of the Old Ones, and the New One, keep him safe on his journey.”

Osgar lowered his arms and stepped back from Stephen in awe, as the sun’s last ray of light cast a glow about the man, illuminating the fae within.

Chapter Nine

Arbroath, Scotland—April, Present day

“From his lips, he spoke the truth. Yet, the nettle’s sting prevented her from understanding its meaning.”

How green the land seemed, so vast and luscious. The hills behind her fell in soft mounds decked in blossoming heather. The air was pungent with sea salt, and the rhythmic sound of the ocean soothed her senses. The winds swept over and around her causing her hair to fly wildly about, yet, she didn’t care.

Taking a deep breath, Aileen surveyed the climb up the hills. It would be so tempting to just walk away. She had spent the night with deep dreams haunting her. Liam’s words resonated in them, and she found herself running away.

“There has to be an explanation,” she murmured.

Her gaze caught sight of a seagull, and she longed to take flight. Nothing made sense. Neither her father nor Liam. Castle Balleycove. The book. She rubbed her pendant, more confused than ever. “Oh Mom, show me a sign.” Sighing, she stepped on the mossy path leading downward and back to the castle.