“Good. Now go and discuss this with the other brothers. We shall all meet in the morning after prayers.”
Stephen crept out from the shadows, and saw Bishop Augustus scratch his chin in thought.
Bloody hell! Would the man not move?
He touched the cold steel of his sword for strength, wishing as an afterthought, it could have been his stone.
Finally, Bishop Augustus turned and made his way out. Stephen followed him. The air hummed with energy, and he looked about. It prickled along his senses, but he had no time to search out its meaning. Keeping his focus steady, he made his way along the corridors at a stealthy pace.
Why was the bishop heading for the nave? He waited then slipped inside. Peering around, he spied the man going to the front. He watched and waited. His prey was removing a rug, and lifting a latch.
“God’s blood,” he rasped low. No wonder none of the others knew about this. The cellar was below the nave. Moving quickly, he descended down through the spiral stairway after the bishop.
The air reeked of death.
A second wave of energy crashed into him, and Stephen had to steady himself. Something was not right. Yet, this was not the time to dwell. He paused letting the shift of power ease, and then continued forward.
Voices talking low carried along the dank walls. He froze, trying to determine where they were coming from. Slipping inside the corner against the wall, he saw a light from a torch coming forward. He held still as two cloaked figures ambled along. One of the men paused briefly, then continued onward.
Stephen emerged slowly, casting a glance back at the departing men. Making his way around the corner, he came upon a door, partially ajar.
“So you refuse to tell us of the other druids? Hmmm...Perhaps I should ask Lachlan to serve you more penance?”
Lachlan? Stephen reeled. He knew the name, and yet...it was impossible! The man was dead. Why would a druid who was supposedly dead be consulting with the bishop? It could not be.
As he peered into the room, he could see Betha’s breathing was labored, but she would not relent. She held her bloody chin high, her eyes blazing at her captor. “I will
never
tell ye anything,” she rasped out. “Ye can question and torture me, but by the Goddess I will not tell ye what ye seek.”
The bishop smacked her hard. “Your heathen ways are at an end, and—”
Stephen silenced him with a blow to the head.
A sob erupted from Betha, “Sweet Mother Danu!”
“Can ye stand?” he asked, hesitant to touch her. Blood stained most of her dress and pooled around her feet.
“If she cannae, then I will carry her,” replied Donal from behind.
Stephen lunged without thought, sword poised at his friend. “Bloody hell! I could have run ye through.”
“Donal,” gasped Betha.
He was at her side in two strides. Lightly touching her injured face, he said, “When Osgar told me that ye might be kept hidden in another cellar, I realized Sir Stephen would need my help.”
“How, Donal?” Stephen interjected. “Osgar did not ken this place.”
“Aye, but this was the original place where we kept the wine.” He gave a wink to Stephen. “Ye ken I helped to build this.”
Tears streamed down Betha’s face. “Get me out of here.”
Donal swiftly cut her bonds and lifted her from the chair. “Can ye walk?” Then he noticed her foot was badly misshapen. “What have they done?”
“My punishment for not talking...among other things.” She silenced his further questions with a kiss.
Stephen approached the door, keeping watch for anyone. He had shoved the bishop to the side, and bound his hands.
He heard Donal say, “Shall I kill him for ye, Betha?”
Betha shook her head. “Nae. We have bigger fears than this depraved creature.”
Stephen cast a glance back at her. “Lachlan?”
“Aye.” Her eyes were wide with fear.
“We’ll talk more when we get ye safely out of here.”
After what seemed like an eternity, they made it safely outside the abbey walls. Darkness had descended, which gave them much needed cover for their escape. Donal gently placed Betha on his horse.
“Your horse, Sir Stephen?”
“By the old abbot’s cottage. I will take the passage under Osgar’s work room. Ye ken where it will lead?”
Donal nodded. “Then we shall leave ye. The others are in the caves, and some have gone deeper into the hills. We shall await your arrival.”
“Go with the God and Goddess, Sir Stephen,” whispered Betha.
Stephen gave her a sad smile. Taking her hand, he placed a gentle kiss on it. “I believe they are no longer walking with me, but I thank ye.”
He watched until they were no longer in his sight before setting out to retrieve Grian. Stephen had prepared quickly and secured his horse earlier. Now, he had to delve back within the abbey grounds. It was only a matter of time before they found Bishop Augustus.
Darting quietly along the corridors, he was relieved not to encounter any of the brothers. Slipping out the side door, he crept through the gardens. The crescent moon was lifting her face in the night sky, and he cast a passing glance.
A feeling of something he was not prepared for trickled down his neck. Leaning against the door leading to the tunnel, he took in some deep calming breaths. “Nae,” he muttered, knowing he had to get to the tunnels soon. A vision was starting, and for the first time in many moons, Stephen would welcome it. The possibility of making some sense of recent happenings was now prominent.
He stumbled inside and bolted the door. Pinpricks of light swam before his eyes as he fought for control. He only required a few more moments. Pushing aside the heavy panel, he heaved himself inside cloaking himself in darkness. Making sure he was sealed in, Stephen groped his way along the stone walls.
“By the hounds! Not...yet,” he growled out through clenched teeth. Slamming a fist against the wall, he tried to focus on moving forward. Pain seared into his temples, and he tripped. He fell to his knees and try as he might, there would be no standing. The entrance was so very close, but he would not make to its safety.
This time the vision succeeded in its forced entry.
The smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils. Images of people, their screams clawed at him. Horror and chaos covered the burning hill. One man stood out before the blaze, mocking them with glee. Someone called out his name, and the man turned around.
Pointing his staff at Stephen, he roared, “I ken who ye are!”
The vision left him as suddenly as it came, leaving him with blinding pain. Stephen retched on the ground, and blacked out.
Chapter Twelve
“The path to her lover was not scented with flowers, but with distrust and disbelief.”
The steady rhythm of her heart was all Aileen could hear for the moment. She knew she had fainted. Her thoughts were scrambled, and she rubbed at her temples with shaky fingers. Opening her eyes a fraction, she tried to make out her surroundings. Faint light fractured off the wall, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
Then her memories unfolded in her mind. Her dad, a Fenian Warrior? Liam? Tears stung her eyes. “You do have a lot of explaining, Dad,” she muttered.
The journal
! She glanced around and noticed it was missing. Standing slowly, she took a few wary steps back to try to locate it. Yet, the further she went, the more the darkness enveloped her.
“Sweet Bridget,” she hissed. Peering back toward the light, she heaved a sigh. Somehow, the journal must have gotten lost within the tunnel. Determined to come back with a flashlight, Aileen moved along to the entrance.
A low moan snapped her from her goal. “Who’s there,” she asked, hugging her arms around herself.
Silence greeted her.
Swallowing her fear, she stepped cautiously ahead. Then she heard it again. It sounded like someone in pain. Her steps quickening, she rounded the corner almost colliding with someone sprawled out on the ground.
“Oh my...
who
,
what
,” Aileen stammered for words, as she stood before the great hulking form of a half dressed man.
Again, the man groaned.
She stooped down looking for some type of injury. There was no sign of blood around him, only his…
sword
?
“What the hell?” She jumped back quickly. “Is there a Renaissance faire nearby? Excuse me, can I help you? Where is the pain?” Leaning forward again, she reached out, and gently touched his shoulder.
“Nae,” he mumbled, rolling over.
Aileen gasped. Never in all of her life had she seen such a man. His pewter gray eyes seared into hers, stealing her breath. She was locked in their mesmerizing hold, wanting to spend forever in them. A frown skittered across his features, and she wanted to smooth it away with her hand. Taking her fingers, she brushed them across his forehead. Instantly, the contact sent shivers up her arm.
She licked her lips trying to regain her composure. “I am a healer. Tell me where is your pain?”
In one swift move, he clasped her wrist, trapping it within his iron fingers. The mere contact sent more heat to her already warm face. Slowly, he rubbed his thumb across the vein in her wrist, and Aileen glanced down, enthralled by his touch. Desire flared swiftly, and she reached out with her other hand.
“Nae,” he growled, pushing her away from him. “Do not touch me,
fae
healer.”
She drew back, shocked and embarrassed. What just happened? She was so close to placing her lips on his hand. Strong, big hands. Wait, did he just call her a fae, as in
faery
? The man surely must have taken a blow to the head. She had to get him to the hospital. Tampering down her strange feelings, she watched as he stood to an imposing height.
“Holy Lugh...” she muttered, clutching her hand to her breast. This man was taller than her father.
“Leave me, fae.” The burr of his voice, deep and sensual, sent a ripple of awareness though her.
Snapping out of her trance, Aileen glared at him. “Excuse me for trying to help, but you were moaning in pain. I would suggest you seek a doctor for treatment, since you obviously had some sort of head trauma.” There was something about him that niggled at the back of her mind. She had seen him somewhere before. Perhaps it was with her father.
He raised his eyebrow mockingly at her. “Humph!” Then bending to retrieve his sword, he walked away.
Aileen watched as he stormed from the tunnel. He was so devastatingly handsome, as if carved from the Gods themselves. Finally realizing she was now alone she proceeded to follow him out of the tunnel into blazing sunlight. Coming to a halt outside, she could see the ocean down below.
Yet, that wasn’t what was bothering her.
How in the blazes could it be morning sunlight? When she was running from Liam, it was early afternoon. Did she pass out the entire night? “Everyone must be frantic.” The need to get back home took precedence over her demented Highlander.
She surveyed the surrounding area, and couldn’t make out where she was. “The tunnel isn’t so long I would have become lost,” she muttered to herself. Stepping past some pines and other foliage, she emerged out along the edge of a cliff.
Hearing a horse snicker, she saw the man greeting his horse. Seeing him in the sunlight, she gawked at him. He really was into whatever role he was playing. Aileen marveled at the detail of his boots and belted tartan. She hollered, “Hey, I don’t think you should be riding him. You really need to see a doctor.” He ignored her warning as he mounted his horse. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He gave her a heated look, before casting a glance to the side.
“Goodbye...” Her words froze on her lips, unable to continue. Full shock registered inside her brain as she realized where she’d seen this man. Her body started to quake, and she clutched her hands to her chest.
“No, th...this
cannot be
,” she choked out. “Tell me who you are. I demand to know your name!”
Are all the fae so dumb
and
beautiful, he thought. “Ye ken who I am.” Stephen’s head caught a glimpse of the fae, as she started to take a few hesitant steps backwards. What the bloody hell was wrong with her? She was standing too close to the edge. If she was not careful, she would slip on over.
Why did he care? She could just vanish, right? Stephen rubbed his face, the remnants of a headache still behind his eyes. Sweet Bridget! Now the fae was yelling at him.
She waved her hands, all the time shaking her lovely head. “You are
not
him!”
He had to put a stop to this, or she would fall. Perhaps, she was a
daft
fae. He certainly did not know their ways, nor did he want to find out. However, this creature was becoming more agitated, and for some unfathomable reason, he did not want her to come to any harm.
“Och, fae healer, stop your babbling.” He dismounted with a groan.
“No, no, no!” Pointing a finger at him, she continued to walk backwards. Stumbling, her foot twisted among some tree roots, causing her to lose her balance.
Stephen swore as he lunged for her, grasping her arm and crushing her against his chest. “Are ye truly daft?”
She shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “I want to know your name.”
“By the saints, fae. Ye ken it is Stephen MacKay.”
Her eyes went wide. “
Dragon Knight
?”
“Nae, no longer,” he retorted with a scowl becoming furious with her list of questions.
Her voice was barely a whisper, as he could see the color draining from her face. “The year?”
He eyed her warily. “It is the year of our Lord, twelve hundred six.”
Instantly, the fae’s eyes closed, and she slumped to the ground.
Chapter Thirteen
“For their path was strewn with roses, but within their beauty lies the thorn of disbelief.”
There was one thing Stephen would not do, and that was leave a foolish fae wandering the abbey walls. They would snatch her up the moment they laid eyes upon her.
He inhaled deeply.
The salty scent of the sea helped to soothe his senses as he held the limp body of the fae in his arms. A hard lump had settled in his chest realizing she was on the brink of going over the edge. His fingers trembled as he swept a lock of hair from her face, the color of the moon. The light danced off her skin, causing it to sparkle with radiance, which surely led him to believe she was one of the fae. He traced the curve of her cheek and along her jaw willing her to open those eyes—eyes that immediately told him all he needed to know. No one had eyes such as hers. They reminded him of lavender reeds on a warm sunny day.